I'll Find You When The Sun Goes Black
by Frankie Hale
Summary: Frank is seventeen, but he believes his life may as well be already over. Gerard is your standard emo-fag in high school - until his family take on a new foster child: Frank. This is a Frerard story with dark themes containing abuse, rape, self-harm and eating disorder. This is how MCR began, and where they are now.
1. I'm Not Okay - I Promise

_**"Frank is broken. He is seventeen, but he believes his life may as well be already over. Gerard is your standard troubled kid in high school, until his parents agree to a new foster child; Frank."**_

_**This is my first attempt at writing a full length story. It's going to be a a long, rocky journey, and will likely be completed over the course of two years. I plan in advance, and so I expect according to my writing schedule, the finish date will be August 2013. There will be about forty chapters in total, and around 120K words. This story will not be left unfinished under any circumstances, unlike hundreds of other Frerard fics out there. **_

_**If can't feel unable to handle dark themes including abuse, rape, self-harm and various eating disorders, then I think it would be better if you left now. There are many fics which are considerably happier than this. **_

_**Each chapter will alternate viewpoints between Gerard and Frank. It will be written entirely in first person.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the members of My Chemical Romance, past or present. Yet. **_

/

/

/

**Prologue**.

_On the day that it all happened, I was alone._

_I was alone. Walking, coolly and quickly down the city streets in crowded downtown Manhattan, feeling little except the vibrations running through my body at the muted thud of my leather boots hitting the concrete. The crowds upon the pavement were like fields of harvest wheat. They jostled me, and it seemed as though the wind was bending the stalks in a bid to break them, but I barely felt it. I was alone inside my head with my music, like every other person in this damn empty city. Just another regular guy, trying to get to work ontime like everybody else._

_Just me, just Gerard Way._

_I knew my name was Gerard Way, only because they told me that was what it was, when I woke up from the transcent, endless sleep of a coma exactly two hundred and six days ago. They could have been lying of course, and I would know no difference. But statistically it seemed unlikely. I have nothing they would want, and I could see no way they would gain an advantage by concealing my identity. So for all intents and purposes, we can assume Gerard Way is my name._

_Lying in a coma can be a beautiful thing. Up to one in three people who recover claim to retain some memory of the time. Their accounts depict a spectrum of experiences ranging from an absolute void to partial awareness within overall unconsciousness, much like dreaming during deep sleep. To my disappointment, I remembered nothing from my coma but the moment between sleep and wakefulness, when the sense of my corporeal self became absolute, and I came to exist again. Before then, my mind is a complete blank. I am like a half completed book, with all the previous chapters wiped out - as though the author had changed their mind halfway through the novel, leaving a character struggling to finish their own story, with no supporting background. I was like a mutated, monstrously overdeveloped newborn child, who is born into the world with the ability to speak, read and write. To function utterly normally, but with no memory of specific people or events._

_I was half a man._

_Of course, they filled in the gaps in my knowledge somewhat. Again, I had to merely hope they were telling the truth. They told me I was an artist, and my dream was to work for the Cartoon Network. They told me I had a mother and a father and two brothers, one real and one adopted. They told me I was twenty four years old._

_The real brother came to visit sometimes, when I was in that room with the white walls after I first awoke. He said his name was Michael-call-me-Mikey. He sat awkwardly on the wooden chairs they provided, and tried hard to smile, but he could barely look me in the eye. Sometimes he brought a pretty dark-haired woman with him. I think she was his wife. She told me her name was Alicia. She seemed more relaxed around me than Michael-call-me-Mikey, and sometimes she showed me pictures of myself that I didn't remember being taken._

_The adopted one never came. They told me his name was Frank, and that I had known him once, a very long time ago. But I didn't know him. They were wrong, I had never seen him before in my life._

_On the day that it happened, all the birds flew away. They took to the air in a flurry of wings and feathers, their impossibly light forms clouding the blue skies and obscuring the sun. People in the street stopped and stared, titlting their heads back and gazing into the sky as though looking for a sign from God; as though they were praying. Tourists with more practice at reacting to the unexpected, pulled out cheap plastic cameras to snap this phenomenon, and across the street from me a young child tugged on an older woman's hand eagerly, excitedly. But I didn't notice. I kept walking, one measured tread after another, dodging around the occassional person who had actually come to a standstill. I was too busy being alone to pay attention._

_On the day that it happened, I was nearly at work, because as it turned out they had been right. I was an artist, undeniably, so it looked like they hadn't been lying about that particular detail after all. However talent and employment rarely go hand in hand, and simply being an artist is no guarantee of a job in todays industry. It wasn't back then, and as far as I know it still isn't today. As it was, I worked in the basement of a comic book store, nurturing my other great love; of graphics. I was almost there, and I had just crossed the main intersection, dodging cars and buses, and blended safely back into the crowd when it happened._

_The first thing we heard was the explosion._

_It shattered the early morning peace -already partially disturbed by the birds - in a hailstorm of fire and screams, the screech of protesting metal. I looked up, up past the building and saw the monster. A bird of shiny silver metal, not of blood and feathers, was destroying the world. The shockwaves from the impact almost knocked me off my feet, and I reeled as I stood. I wasn't the only one. Everywhere, there was suddenly shouting, screaming, panic. But as I regained my balance, I just stared as people began to run, knocking into me, ignoring me in their blind terror like rats trapped on a sinking ship. I couldn't feel anything. I wasn't hurt, it wasn't touching me._

_I looked up, into the sky and I saw it. The two towers. The end of the world. Because the world was on fire._

_Before I could begin to process what had just occurred, it happened again. Suddenly the first terrible pillar of smoke and flame, was joined by its twin and there were two terrible flaming brands, jutting out into the sky._

_I walked numbly towards the devastation, as though in a daze. My mind was strangely empty, no emotion or real thought. In retrospect, I believe I was going into shock. I was within a few hundred metres of the hit towers now, sensation barely returning. The acrid stench of burning brought me back to myself more than anything else. The flames were taking hold, somewhere halfway up the first tower, and beginning to spread. On the streets below, crowds gathered wherever there was a view of the smoking towers. As I looked around me in shock, peoples reactions ranged from stunned disbelief to weeping. As we watched the groan of protesting metal rose to a hideous screech like a beast in agony, and then we saw the building begin to buckle. As one, we watched as the World Trade Centre collapsed into a pile of smoking rubble. The dust cloud was choking, and I doubled over. Others, better men than I, immediately and quickly pitched in, doing what they could to direct traffic or assist people._

_Along 6th Avenue, New Yorkers stood aghast as they watched the buildings burn, and a sudden shriek went up when the other tower collapsed, sending a huge plume dust into the air. People ran screaming as a growing cloud of debris hit the streets of lower Manhattan and pushed them up the Avenue. It was like a scene out of a movie as the huge ball of rubble grew behind a terrorised crowd, running for cover._

_I learned later from the newspapers and television coverage, that further uptown, trolleys formed outside St. Vincent's Medical Centre in Greenwich Village awaiting the injured. Hospital staff went through the crowd pleading with people to donate blood. Shopkeepers shut-up shop, while others remained open as employees gathered around televisions and radios to hear what had happened. Major north-south thoroughfares were shut down for access to police and emergency vehicles only, as pedestrians made their way uptown. It has always amazed me how some people react to tragedies. The human condition is one to endure, to adapt, to cope and survive. Miracles happened that day. Heroes were made, people were found alive where they should have died, and strangers joined together in a doomed attempt to comprehend the depth of the disaster that had struck when they least expected it._

_I wish I could say I contributed in some useful way that day. That perhaps I joined the search for the missing, or extended a hand to a passer-by who had simply broken down in tears - because there were plenty - or helped to organise food and clothing in some way, or anything._

_But I didn't. I was still just standing there. Alone._

_I saw the bodies fall from the sky._

_I saw people on fire._

_I watched the world burn around me, and for the first time in seven years since the moment I entered that coma, I felt again. Sensation and memory cut through me like a knife, and I remembered everything._

_/_

_/_  
><strong>Chapter One.<br>The Memoirs of Gerard Way.**

**/**  
>

Was it the best idea to start with the moment where I regained my memory? I have no idea, because I've never written a book before. To tell the truth, it was essentially a ploy. I just wanted to capture your interest and drag you into the story. Please don't think worse of me though, or imagine I'm making a mockery of the twin towers - because in all honesty they were the most horrific thing I have ever experienced in all my years. But my emotions are mixed, you see. Because on the day that so many people lost their lives, I had mine returned to me.

Maybe I should have started this story from the moment Frank Iero first entered my life. Perhaps I ought to have given you the whole story from there, and ended my tale with the disaster. After all, that was when my life really began. But you see the hardest part of writing a book, I am discovering, is not the art of constructing sentences and paragraphs. It is deciding what to include, what events are relevant, which conversations really need to be written down. Which order I should place them in. I'm constantly second guessing myself, even now. But this is my first foray into the world of the literary, so you will have to forgive me all my flaws. I am only a man with just a pen, and a story.

Every man needs a purpose, and this is my new one. Since I was seventeen, my purpose was Frank Iero. I didn't realise it when I first met him, and our start was hardly auspicious. But since I awoke from the coma, he has been the only thing on my mind, and I am like a boat adrift without him. My psychologist, a truly wonderful woman called Eliza, was the first to suggest I write everything down from beginning to end, although I am not a writer, but an artist. Words are an unfamiliar alien language to me, and they cluster around me with their individual uses, threatening and frightening to confront. I cannot afford to make mistakes with them, and yet I know I do with every sentence I type. With my paints and my canvases I feel safe, because I am allowed to be wrong. Wrong is good, messy is encouraged, failure is simply another method of creation. My writing is like art, because it is ugly and flawed.

Still, sometimes a story must be told. It is nothing special, but it is mine and that makes it significant to me. You my dear reader, are simply an accident.

So let me return to when I was seventeen, and my life was about to change.

/

It was a Friday afternoon when I first heard about the new kid. I had just escaped the tyranny of double maths, and was pushing my way down the corridor like everyone else, hoping to make it out of the front doors unscathed.

Unlikely.

Mikey came out of nowhere, collared me, and dragged me to one side of the hall. "They're talking about fostering again!" He shouted in my ear, then disappeared into the melee before I could ask him what he was talking about. I could hazard a guess he meant our parents. They were always talking about fostering though. Doubtful they'd ever actually do anything about it.

"Hey, fag!"

I had been in this school long enough to know that the comment was intended for me. The damn jocks that patrolled the hallways at all times like some neo-nazi version of the boy scouts, couldn't make it through half an hour without a little bit of well-meant torment. Unfortunately for me, I had also been around this place long enough to know precisely what would happen should I respond. I wasn't in the mood for a fist fight today, my only goal was to make it home. I kept walking down the corridor, flicking long strands of stringy black hair out of my eyes and focusing on the dirty linoleum floor rather than the comments that were increasing in volume. My last lesson was over and I was almost out the door. What could possibly happen?

A balled up paper missile hit the back of my head as I continued towards the double doors at the end of the corridor, the inevitable laughter erupting around me like a scene from one of those high school movies we all love to hate. But honestly, I wasn't particularly concerned by this development. Thirteen years of attending school with these exact same people, had taught me paper was okay. Hell, paper was good. But sods law came into play, and no sooner had I re-assured myself with this comforting thought, than a text-book hit me smack bang in the face. Painful. Why did the school think it was a good idea to produce a hardback edition?

I closed my eyes, hoping my feet would guide me out the door, and pretended I wasn't there. This was a game I often played when things happened. I would have whole conversations in my head with someone who wasn't there. Pretended I was somewhere else, with someone else, talking to them instead. I would centre myself by telling them all about me, reminding myself in the process. What would I say to them today?

Maybe I would start by apologising. I'm so sorry, I'm being terribly rude here, allowing myself to get caught up in the moment, I would say.

Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gerard Way, no abbreviations thank you very much, unless your name is Michael Way and you're my little brother. Which I must admit, I find extremely unlikely. Yes I'm Gerard. Seventeen years old, resident artist and faggot at this little American high school in the back waters of New Jersey. Not the prettiest combination in the world.

Of course if you're really here for the the ride, I would warn them, you'll work this out all by yourself. But let me tell you I'm unpopular, to say the least. I dress too dark to be cool; I smoke too much to be a jock; and my raging homosexuality makes being around other people difficult. So shoot me, I'm fucking flaming. Of course, if we're being honest I should probably let a sliver of the truth in as well. I don't get on with people because, well, I suppose always worry while I'm not looking, they're joining in with the general mass opinion that I'm a freak and a weirdo. Call me paranoid, but I've had one too many beatings in this place.

What else to might I say? Doing my very best to introduce myself, but honestly I think you'll find I'm pretty uninteresting underneath the eyeliner and paint. I have two parents and a little brother called Michael, who I already mentioned as the only person allowed to abbreviate my name, and only grudgingly at that. I call him Mikey. He's a good couple of years younger than me, but manages to keep a close eye on me in all my classes, thanks to a 4.1 GPA that allowed him to be pushed up a few grades.

If I was really talking to someone, I would sigh and probably roll my eyes at this point in the conversation. Can you blame me? Mikey might be a genius, but it has had the predictable effect of making the little smart-arse not only the apple of our mothers eye, but also an insufferable and terminal pain in the arse.

Oh, and while we're on the subject of terminal pains, I want to be an artist. Rather badly at that.

By this point I had made it through the school doors and left behind the mass exodus, hopefully with only a mild concussion to brighten up my afternoon. My miniature conversation with myself had grounded me like it always did. Initially a suggestion by my therapist - before I threw a fit and got kicked out of her office - it never failed to remind me of who I was. Even if the person I was happened, in fact, to be a sarcastic asshole. But I was happy that way.

Before I could continue down my contentedly self-absorbed train of thought however, I was interrupted by the afore mentioned mini-genius who chose this particular moment to make an entrance, conveniently too late to save my right cheekbone.

"Gee!" Mikey called, hurrying to catch up with me as I headed out of the school gates.

"Where've you been?" I asked. My question was answered as he went pink and ducked his head under his long, meticulously straightened brown fringe. "Oh. With Alicia." Mikey and Alicia had been dating solidly for three years. Mikey met the girl in the first week we moved here, and had instantly fallen head over heels in love. He was barely twelve years old, but informed us determinedly from day one, that Alicia was the girl he was going to marry. We had all smiled indulgently, patted them both on the head and waited for the relationship to end in a wave of teen angst and tears. We were still waiting. It had gotten to the point that I'd even given up teasing him about it - unless of course it was a special occasion.

Mikey either didn't notice, or didn't care how blatantly uninterested I was in just about everything he had to say. After three years of walking this exact same stretch of sidewalk, he still didn't pick up on my dull tone of voice. Sometimes I wasn't sure if Mikey was deliberately making conversation just so I spoke a few words every day, or was genuinely unaware I didn't give a damn. The boy continued chattering happily the whole way, prattling on about school and Alicia, alternating smoothly between each every few minutes. I concentrated on my ripped red converse hitting the sidewalk in a steady rhythm, trying to drown him out with varying degrees of success.

Now don't get me wrong here, Mikey has been there for me through a hell of a lot. It's not that I don't like him, or even that he annoys me in any violent way. Hell, I love the kid. But even though he probably has a greater brain capacity and higher IQ than half the people in our grade, he still has the mentality of a child majority of the time. God knows how Alicia puts up with him.

And remember the little comment I made regarding my dubious popularity a few paragraphs back? To break down the illusion entirely, I have to admit that aside from my two best friends from New York, Ray and Robert, who I haven't seen in three years, Michael Way is all the company I get.

/

When we finally arrived home, Mikey peeled away to his bedroom, no doubt to search up Alicia online at the earliest convenience. Either that or make conversation with our parents, another task I was only too happy to delegate to the favourite Way child. I just headed straight downstairs, threw myself onto my filthy bed and shrugged my black Misfits satchel off my shoulder. Pulling my shoes and clothes off, I slumped back against the pillows in my briefs and lit up a cigarette. Inhaling appreciatively, I looked around my room.

Located in the basement of our supposedly stylish house, it was a far cry from the clean cut wholesome American decor my parents favoured. No white walls and pot plants for me, thank you very much. I had chosen to walk a different path many, many years ago. My walls were a deep blood red, the product of months of begging. Typically, there was virtually no need for it as band posters obscured almost all the red, and where there weren't posters there were my sketches, and my poetry scrawled on scraps of paper, and pinned up roughly. To call it a mess would be an understatement; the immediate aftermath of a detonated atomic bomb would be a better description.

Piles of dirty clothes, plates and CDs littered the floor, which was so dirty and bloodstained it was hard to see the original colour. My blood only. At this tender stage in my life, I hadn't quite sufficiently developed my more homicidal tendencies to the extent that I would be spilling the blood of others. Or at least, I hadn't brought them into my bedroom.

My chipped wooden desk had almost as many cigarette burns as my bed, which I liked to think of as artistic expression, rather than being too lazy to find an ashtray. Less easy to explain were the deep scores in the wood, inflicted by my alcohol-fuelled rages when I'd manage to successfully channel my fury into the desk rather than myself for a change. I still had bunk beds; a constant reminder of my childhood with Mikey, back in New York where we grew up. I stared above me at the narrow slats supporting the top bunk. Mikey had called top as soon as he was tall enough to scramble up there, and there was never a point arguing. Mikey the toddler was an absolute terror when he didn't get his own way. Even after we moved here and Mikey was granted his own bedroom, I was in the habit of sleeping on the bottom.

I pulled my sketchbook from my bag and flicked through the full pages until I came to one void of marks. I love my sketchbook. Every time I buy a new one I decorate the front cover with a mixture of paint, charcoal and ink, in crazy patterns. Sometimes I put quotes on there too, and then I have to wait for it all to dry. It's utterly necessary. No matter what scenes or faces entrance me as I observe the world around epme, I can still never bring myself to open the book until the cover is completed. And then there is the joy of desecrating the first page with dark bold lines, the adrenaline rush that comes with it. The understanding that the first page must be perfect because if anyone ever looks through the sketchbook, it's what they're going to see first, and first impressions are important. Then the slow satisfaction as days pass and the pages are filled with sights, thoughts and faces. The quiet contentment upon reaching the final page, dating it, and closing the cover. Then the whole process begins again.

Chewing on a pencil, I lay back and began to idly sketch, taking a deep drag on my cigarette to help me focus. Lines flowed smoothly from the tip of my pencil; tracing figures, wings, a night sky, a boy holding a guitar... I wasn't paying attention to what I was drawing, and it certainly wasn't anything particularly inspired but I didn't care. This was how most of my evenings were spent these days. Just me and my sketchbooks, concentrating on the Smashing Pumpkins blaring through my beat up stereo.

"The world is a vampire  
>Sent to drain<br>Secret destroyers  
>Hold you up to the flames<br>And what do I get for my pain?  
>Betrayed desires, and a piece of the game"<p>

Lulled by the rasping vocals, I continued to sketch my way through the afternoon. It's the only thing I can do right anymore.

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I barely noticed when my pencil moved slower and slower over the paper, and my drawings finally ceased and turned into dreams.

In order to continue scribing this book the way I envisioned it, I'm afraid at this point I am going to have to cease writing from my own point of view. This story isn't just mine, it belongs to Frank too. The experiences and the life Frank lived is so intrinisically enwtined with mine, that it must be told alongside my own. Therefore I must let his voice guide you through the labyrinth of his personal tale. This is something I pieced together over the years, from his own words, and those of people who had once known him. But in the end, Frank simply told me his own story from start to finish - and I cannot do it justice if I don't tell it to you exactly the way he told me.

Franks story and my story run along the same timeline. I think you should know his side of it at the same time that you hear mine - it's only fair that way. So we will take it in turns to continue our tale, piece by piece.

/  
>

/

_**Thank you for reading. **_

_**"Well now this could be the last of all the rides we take...so hold on tight and don't look back..."**_

_**~Hana Belladonna**_


	2. This is how I disappear

Chapter Two: Frank

/  
>

Children, and the childish worlds they inhabit are an endless source of mystery.

When some children are born, their birth heralds great joy in the family and the greater community in which they inhabit, and will grow to become a part of. The parents are ecstatic and brimming over with love, the extended family and friends visit with flowers and cards, little gifts of congratulation. Symbolically the birth of a child is considered to represent growth, new beginnings, and hope. It is almost always associated with positivity and happiness, without fail.

My birth however, was a disaster. From the very beginning I was known as a parasite, a little life-destroyer. But I will explain the details of this later.

My name is Frank Iero, and how I got my name is an amusing little tale. Legend has it, that on the day I first emerged, mewling and gurgling into the world on a tidal wave of my mothers blood, the nurses took me away as my mother fell into an exhausted sleep. They bathed me and wrapped me, and when my mother awoke, they returned me to her, cooing eagerly over my infant sweetness. My mother took one look at me, and groaned. "I'll be frank with you" she informed the nurses. "After all the pain he caused me, you might want to take him away or I won't be responsible for my actions."

However, the long labour had taken its toll (as had, I suspect, the copious amounts of screaming) and my mothers voice was sufficiently slurred and rough, that the only words the nurses could pick out was "...be Frank." They naturally assumed this was to be my name, and labelled my crib in the infant ward appropriately. My mother, upon recovering her sense of humour, never corrected their mistake. Thus, I was christened.

I, of course do not remember that day. I have very few memories of my early years, which I am grateful for. I try not to remember whenever I can. Memories are painful to a person who has no hope, and I live in the moment instead. Living in the moment is equally painful, but it is a more easily managed form of pain. I am seventeen, and I am dying. But everything has a beginning, and this day is mine.

Curled up in a ball. Darkness. Cold.

They're gone. They're gone and there's nothing left now.

So why does any of this matter at all? Why does it matter that I can still feel the bruises aching from the last place he kicked me? Why does it matter that blood is trickling down my arm, dribbling out from between the stitches where she slashed me with a carving knife, then sewed me up by hand. They loved me. I know they did. And now they're gone.

I can hear myself whimpering, but in a distant, disconnected way. Nothing seems real anymore.

I wonder idly why it's taking so long to die.

/

That night, I woke up screaming.

Gasping for air, I bolted upright, clutching one of my trembling arms around my waist and throwing my other hand over my mouth, trying to hold in the screams that are erupting from my chest. I tried to drag in a deep ragged breath but my throat was dry and raw. Wrapping my arms around my bony torso I howled again and again, into my bare pillow. Clenching my hands into fists, I gritted my teeth so hard I could feel them eroding, as I hyperventilated. Minutes, or maybe hours passed. I worked on slowing my breathing, screams turning to sobs, then eventually calming down. I was still shaking though. That was one of the worst. Nightmares are not new, but they may as well be. Every single one has individual new and different torments hidden within, ready to torture me.

Groaning, I rubbed my eyes, and stretched out, wincing as the movement tugged on some of the deeper scar tissue across my chest. Then I gradually allowed myself to remember the dream. A difficult task, to remember without truly acknowledging. Tears filled my eyes, and spilled slowly down my cheeks. I just lay there. Remembering.

I lay there all through the rest of the night, and my hands never relaxed the death grip they had on the bed. I lay there gazing out the little window, and watched the moon slowly swim across the velvet sky. I closed my eyes, because I didn't want to see that moment before the dawn, when the moon slips over the edge, and it is completely dark. When I opened my eyes next, the sky was still flecked with stars, though a thin line of red showed along the horizon. Not that I cared about the beauties of nature anymore.

Not that I cared about anything anymore.

They won't come back, I reminded myself like I did every morning. I've accepted that now. I know I can make it too. I will carry on through every day. Maybe I do wake up screaming in the middle of the night, terrified of my own insides. Maybe I cry, cut and bleed every night. But that doesn't mean I'm not surviving.

Because you don't have to survive if you your not really living in the first place.

And that's what I'm banking on. I'm not living; I'm just making it through each day.

After all, it's nearly time for me to go. Just another month or so.

/

After those appalling first few months when they first left me alone, I managed to find a way to make the social services believe I was still here. When I stopped attending school, they starting chasing me, and found that I was alone. Then they wanted to have me fostered. But I couldn't have that. I managed to pull myself together long enough to do the necessary research, and eventually I became an emancipated minor. No one wants to foster a seventeen year old boy, and I couldn't afford to let anyone close even if they had wanted to. The system is like a fucking meat-grinder. Children go in one end, and raw bloody meat comes out of the other. We aren't people to them, we're problems to be solved, and I refuse to become part of the system. It was easy to pull enough strings to get my own way on the matter. It was necessary.

I feel physically sick to my disgusting stomach at the thought of anyone getting even remotely close to me. No one will ever know how close I came to snapping, when they interviewed me, went over all the details, to make sure I could survive on my own in that hole of a flat, all alone.

I lied through my teeth, and I did it well. I sat through the psych tests, and I flashed my best smile like a smashed keyboard. As a child, the library had been my second home. I had read advanced books on psychology no teenager would usually get their hands on, and I knew every trick they were trying to pull. I answered every question with the model answer they needed to be able to tick the boxes. Even easier was the statements, and the police interviews. I was polite and unassuming towards nurses in white hospital scrubs as they took blood samples and checked my health, and I chattered away helpfully to my personal social worker about the various difficulties and problems that came with living alone. I let them deal with finances, and made sure I knew enough facts to get me through the discussions. The legal part went over my head mostly, but as I was technically already adopted, they weren't keen to send me through the system again. They told me it was only short-term, until they found the people who were supposed to be taking care of me. You won't find them if they don't want to be found.

Then I left the office, officially my own person.

I was stronger then. Strong enough to make it through all that. As soon as I stepped back into the flat though, the smell of pain and fear brought me to my knees. Because I'm such a fucking mess. I haven't stepped outside the front door in six months. Just the thought is enough to make me retch, or bring on another panic attack. I'm not real anymore.

I don't feel real. I feel disconnected, as if the real world was this dream I once had. I spend my days and nights in the dark. After all this time, my skin is so sensitive that sunlight blisters it in minutes. I'm like a filthy disgusting animal, crouching in a hole to die. With only one way to escape.

The knives. I know I've already mentioned it, but I cut every night. And day, for that matter. It just makes the pain go away, if only for a moment. I can never fully describe the relief I feel every time I drag that razor across my skin. The pain and beauty of it, the first time stunned me to silence it was such a monumental moment for me. Sounds stupid, I know. Calling the first time you slit your wrists for recreational purposes monumental. But that's what it was. For one beautiful moment it all disappeared into the air. All the pain was gone.  
>It was like using drugs to anesthetize the gaping hole in my chest.<p>

See the truth of the matter is, I am only human. I am weak and feeble and pathetic, and it's no wonder they left me. So all I have to do is keep my mask in place while I live as a minor, and then when I turn eighteen I can quietly and calmly take my own life with no fuss. She promised she would come back then, and tell me the truth. When I know, then I can die. It's not too long now, that I have left to survive. Thinking about it is the closest I've been to excitement since … since they left. Just a few more months of life. Never has a boy anticipated his own impending death with as much pleasure as I. But we've already been there. You can't survive if you were never living.

Lying in my narrow cot bed, a grimy sheet wrapped around me, I dropped the pillow over the side of the bed, and winced as the tiny movement sent spasms through my gut. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten. To shut it out, I turned inwards, blacked out the world around me with the too-fast beat of my own heart pounding in my ears, and thought once again about how pleasant it would be to die.

/

I was so busy musing my deplorable existence that I completely failed to notice where my wandering mind was leading me. And when I did notice, I wished I hadn't.

_'What are you?'_

_'A stupid whore sir!' I sob, curling up against the wall, for protection._

_'No! A stupid fucking whore. Can't you get anything right?'_

_A boot hits me in the small of my back, and I dry retch reflexively, gagging as my face is ground into the filthy floorboards by a large calloused hand. He grabs me by my upper arms and throws me against the wall. Then I feel a smaller hand tugging on his arm, pulling him away from me. This hand has long nails. Long sharp nails._

_I can't see them with my eyes squeezed shut, but I don't need to. I know everything about that hand. From the delicate way the love lines and heart lines cross, to how those bright red nails feel raking down your face. And what those long fingers look like folded around the handle of a knife._

_'Now, now dear. Be careful of the boy'_

_The voice is sickly sweet, and I whimper. She's here._

_'Darling' she whispers in my ear, and wraps an arm around me, half pulling me onto her lap._

_I feel like vomiting at the sickly sweet stench of her perfume, and I gag a few times. She slaps me. It stings, but she kisses it away, smearing her whore-red lipstick down the side of my face. I'm trembling, shaking like a fucking leaf, but my eyes are dry. I haven't cried since mama died._

_They will not make me cry._

_'Baby boy' she croons, stroking the side of my torso. 'I have a gift for you'._

_I'm truly retching now, my stomach seizing into cramps as I writhe in her arms. Gifts hurt. But it's too late. It feels like ice first, and then like fire. And then the hot wet trickling down my side, before the pain really kicks in. I open my eyes, taking in the blonde woman holding me against her, her filthy skin a stark contrast against her heavy makeup. I raise my eyes to her face, blank now. She smiles, and the knife blade glints in the light._

_'Who loves you most?' she half sings to me._

_'You do' I whisper._

_My eyes are closed, and my mind is already a million miles away. Years past tears, I barely notice as her mouth settles over mine, sealing our deal once more._

/

Agony ripped through my chest, and I slumped back into the filthy mattress, my legs no longer able to support the weight of my body. My arms locked around my body, and my legs drew up instinctively drawing my body into a foetal position. I could feel the springs in the bed digging into my back, yet I felt nothing at all. I was as terrified as though I was in mortal danger.  
>But the danger didn't come from the outside, the danger was I.<p>

I was a menace to the whole world, incapacitated as I was. When the pain was like this there was only one way to stop it.

Reaching for a small battered matchbox under the bed, I carefully slid open the damp cardboard, and with shaking fingers I removed from it a slim, silver razor blade. So beautiful, in the half light. Even the tiny line of red along the horizon could still make it gleam. Stretching out my left arm, clad in a black plain long sleeved top, I pulled back the sleeve slowly. Even though I had seen them a hundred times, the ugliness of the scars on my arms still made me gasp.

I ran my fingers over the scars slowly, despising the feel of the puckered skin under my fingers. Finally I found a spot. Picking up my razor blade I angled it to point at a spot right on my wrist. Pushing the tip of it beneath the skin, and then deeper into the flesh I gasped out loud at the exquisite pain. Then in one motion I slashed the blade across my wrist. First, the whole pink flesh where the cut was as visible, a slash of pale, baby pink on my arm. Then tiny pin pricks of blood began to well up, fill up the cavern in my arm and spill over. I lifted my eyes to the ceiling and sighed.

My name is Frank Iero, and I think I died eleven years ago.

/

/

/

~Hana Belladonna


	3. Planetary GO!

Chapter three

/

/

/

"Gerard!"

The shout from somewhere above woke me abruptly from my slumber, and I jerked awake. I somehow managed to hurl myself off the bed and land in a tangled heap of bedclothes. My heart was pounding, and I winced as my shoulder slammed into the floor. "Nice one Gerard" I muttered as I slowly began to extricate myself.

My CD had finished at some point while I was asleep, and the player was making an irritating clicking and humming noise as the CD jarred continuously. I let it run as I checked my clock; seven fifteen in the evening. I had slept through the entire afternoon.

Well that explained the freaking wakeup call.

Muttering to myself, I slowly pulled myself to my feet and steadied my balance against the bed, as my head spun and my vision went momentarily black behind my eyes - talk about a rush of blood to the head. I could just about guess that the shout had come from my mother, and she for some reason required my presence. Attempting to pull myself into some sense of order, and stumbling blearily to the door, I managed to stumble into a pair of black jeans and a random band tee-shirt. I knew I had been having some kind of dream whilst I slept, but now my memory could only summon the vague, blurry sensation of its last remnants slipping from my mind. This irritated me: I hate our human tendency to forget dreams.

Then, just as I was heading out the door, I glanced to the side and I saw the drawing I'd been working on before I fell asleep - the drawing that I had already forgotten about. My sketchbook was lying abandoned atop of a pile of dirty clothes next to my bed, where it must have fallen when I awoke so suddenly. A blank page was turned towards me, but the spiral-bound edge was crumpled against the dirty floor, and I could see a hint of charcoal on the opposite page. I couldn't even remember that I had been drawing, let alone what I'd been drawing, so I stretched out a hand and pulled it towards me, turning it into the dim light. Then I froze.

A boy clutching a guitar sat on the lip of a cliff, in the middle of the night. At least from the depth of the shading in the stormy sky, I assumed it was intended to be night-time. The boy looked about my age - an inference I drew from his posture, and his defined jawline, but his head was bowed over the guitar and the remainder of his face was indecipherable. His hair - about the length of mine, so almost shoulder length - hung in dark strands over his face. How could I not remember drawing this? The delicacy of the individual strands of hair alone should have taken me hours. I was beginning to wonder if I had actually drawn this, or if someone had planted it.

But the cross-hatching was mine, the shading was characteristic of my personal style. More obviously, I knew almost nothing about guitars these days, so predictably the guitar was an indefinably generic make. Yes, I had definitely drawn this. There was something about the boy, in the ease that followed line of his body, as his slim fingers rested gently on the seventh fret, which suggested he knew how to play this instrument better than I did.

At the foot of the rugged cliff, waves were forever frozen in motion. Halfway between their formation as shapes rising from the foaming water, and their conclusion; crashing and dissolving against the sharp rocks which I had smudged in with and endings, ceasing to exist. Partway down the cliff, a crack in the rock indicated a cave. One or maybe two shadowy figures were almost indistinct against the blackness. In some places I'd pressed so hard I'd almost broken through the page.

The picture was rough, almost brutally drawn in harsh lines. Yet that very roughness made it seem almost alive, as if it could burst off the page. I knew instinctively, that this was the emotion that I had been missing from my art. It was clichéd and symbolic, it was figurative and had no particular artistic merit, it certainly wasn't original in the slightest. But it was alive. This was what I needed to get into art college, to live my dream. Something so alive it screamed raw human pain and suffering.

I looked at the boy again.

I looked closer. Blurred delicately above his torso... did he have angel wings?

"GERARD ARTHUR WAY!"

I jumped, startled out of my reverie and attempted to toss the sketch book upon a pile of identical books. All I succeeded in, however; was knocking the entire tower over into a mess I knew I wouldn't be cleaning up any time soon. Turning again to the door, I hesitated. I could feel something, a vague prickling in the back of my mind that suggested I should be doing something else at that very moment, or that perhaps I had forgotten something. I knew that feeling. But I couldn't afford to stop now, without risking invoking the wrath of my mother, so I took one last longing glance at my room, and left.

/

The four of us were in perfect silent formation in our little family unit, sitting at the pine wood dinner table when they brought up the new kid again. I wasn't listening in all honesty. Although I never was, not really - family harmony was something that we never seemed to manage, no matter how hard Mom tried. I was only picking at my food, not hungry after my sleep. For some irritating reason, despite my best efforts, I had been unable to remember my dream when I really wanted to. Now however, I couldn't get that bloody thing out of my head. It began to replay itself, distracting me from things like eating and speaking.

Dream really wasn't the right word anymore though. Nightmare would be a much more accurate description.

_I was sitting on the edge of a narrow bed. It was more of an army standard cot really; a couple of crates pushed together forming the base under a bare mattress with only a few grimy sheets and a worn out threadbare pillow. Dark crisp streaks of what look like dried blood decorated the sheets, and the bare floorboards under my bare feet felt slick and dirty. I didn't even want to know what was on them. I was watching a man beating a boy. And like often happens in dreams, I couldn't move or speak. I sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, but I instinctively knew I was invisible to them - and less substantial than a ghost. This wasn't my place, I didn't belong here. I wasn't to intrude, merely to watch._

_"What are you?" The man snarled in the face of the boy. He's a big man. Muscular, but with the slight flabbiness that suggests original good intentions long ruined by too much drink and rich food. His eyes were bloodshot, the pupils dilated._

_I found that in this dream, I could make things slow down. So I took a good look at him, noting the dirtiness of his clothing and the grime that had collected around his neck._

_"A stupid whore sir!" I heard the boy choke out as the dream sped up again. He was crying tearlessly, wrapping his arms around himself as he flinched back against the filthy wall._

_"No! A stupid fucking whore. Can't you get anything right?" The big man stood over him, then pulled his foot back and slammed it into the broken body at his feet. He was wearing thick leather combat boots, and I heard the thud and crunch as the foot made contact with the boy's lower back. I gasped in horror. The tiny body was the saddest thing I had ever seen, and I was surprised one kick didn't break him in half. The man leant down and ground the boy's face into the floor. I still couldn't see his face, only long strands of dark hair. The scene was the worst thing I've ever seen. I desperately wanted to help the boy, but I still couldn't move or speak. I could sense in the way you sometimes did in dreams, that I was invisible to these people. Insignificant and unsubstantial as a ghost, but unfortunately not quite a poltergeist._

_Then I could hear someone calling me from the distance. Was it the boy? No that wouldn't make sense. "Gerard…Gerard…" _I was startled and frightened for a moment, wondering what terrible monster from this dream-world had somehow learned of my name, and was coming to destroy me.

"GERARD!"

I came back to myself with a sudden jerk, looking around in surprise, almost shocked to find myself back in the familiar surroundings of our pretty, well-lit dining room. I couldn't believe I had just zoned out through the entire meal, and managed to relive the dream, without anyone even noticing. Maybe I really was going crazy. I looked at my Mother curiously, wondering what she had saying before she realized her eldest son wasn't entirely present in the conversation. She looked back at me, frustration mixed with amusement in her gentle face.

Now I'll just say right here and right now, that I adore my Mother. I always have done, since childhood. Growing up, she was the person who insisted I took art classes, who shielded me without being overbearing, the one woman I loved with my heart and soul. But in the past few years, a bridge has come between us. We haven't spoken properly since I was fourteen - and these days I just hide away in my basement cave. I'm happier that way, I really am. But sometimes I wish I could explain to her why.

My father was concentrating on his food. A man of few words, he worked hard at helping abused teenagers find new homes during the day, and then came home to eat, before retiring to my parent's bedroom to watch television - subsequently ignoring his own teenagers. I guess we're just not broken enough for him to pay attention. My father and I have never been close. His job as a social worker means he has to work long hours, and as the hard-working patriarch of the family, he has never understood his life-wasting alcoholic artist son. More commonly known as me.

I looked back at my mother. She smiled at me, clearly letting the conversation I had missed drop, her caramel coloured curls hanging around her heart shaped face. I wish I looked more like her, but my looks didn't seem to come from either of my parents.

"Eat your meal honey," Mom said, giving me a mildly reproving look. I raised my eyebrows questioningly, forcing a sardonic tilt into my expression. It was always hardest with Mom. But she wasn't paying attention to me anymore though. In fact she looked slightly nervous now, as she continued speaking. "Then your father and I have something important we need to talk to you about."

I bit back a snort. Oh, what could it possibly be? What brand of coffee we buy next? Whether or not my leather pants are appropriate for school? Or even – shock - if Mikey needs a haircut. I looked at Mikey pointedly, with little effect. He's making no pretence to eat; his meal lies abandoned on the plate and he's slumped in his chair, brown hair covering his glasses, barely bothering to hide the luminous screen of his phone under the table.

"Just tell us now," I stated, and kicked Mikey under the table in a doomed attempt to wake him up from whatever cyberspace dream world he was inhabiting. Mikey started violently, and looked up at me in a mixture of confusion and anger.

"Huh?" He managed. I nodded towards Mom smugly, with the satisfaction of being the one in the right for once, telling what was going on. 'Do all siblings try and score points over one-another like that?' I wondered idly.

"Mikey," I said out loud, clearly. "Mom and Dad have something they want to talk to us about."

I watched Mikey's face adjust as he slowly reacquainted himself with the land of the living, and slid his phone into the left hip pocket of his painfully tight black skinny jeans. I caught a glimpse of the screen. Alicia, of course - as usual. Dear God, why couldn't my brother just stay nice and single like me?

/

Mother reached out and did something similar to my Father, and he looked around at us all, blinking slowly as if surprised to find he's not alone. Yep I feel like saying. We're actually still here Dad. Mom squeezed his hand, in a gesture unusual to see openly between my parents - in fact Mikey and I used totheorize that we were adopted because if how little intimacy we witnessed - her fingers running along the back of his hand, as if for support. My imagination immediately kicked into overdrive. They never do stuff like this in front of us. Please tell me one of them doesn't have some kind of terminal illness. Or we're moving again. Or Dad's lost his job. Actually, that last one wouldn't be so bad.

Dad cleared his throat reluctantly, clearly unaccustomed to addressing his own children, and I repressed a scowl.

"Boys," he began. "You know for my job, I work with less fortunate children in the community, and help them to find homes."

Mikey and I nodded. This was all bullshit. We've heard it all before.

"Well, recently we have been having an influx of abused young people passing through our system, and a lack of foster particular, one child who is currently living alone. We strongly suspect he has been abused in the past, and is unable to take care of himself currently.

"When the request came in for this child's emancipation, we had a huge shortage of staff, and those that were in the office were young and inexperienced. The request was processed too quickly and without long-term assessment. I feel sure that under normal circumstances, his request would have been denied.

"We are intending to assess him and his living conditions tomorrow and fully expect to have to put him into temporary care."

I had begun to see where Dad going with this train of speech, and I wasn't best pleased. Then I remembered Mikey grabbing me in the school corridor earlier, mentioning some new kid, and it starts to make sense.

Dad took a deep breath. "If all is as we suspect it will be, we are going to be taking this boy into our home for a few months, until his eighteenth birthday when he is no longer a ward of the state." He said, gesturing to emphasize his point.

Dad's breath whooshed out, and he sat back in his seat, relaxing and clearly pleased to have finished his speech. I was reeling, unsure which aspect of my displeasure I should be expressing first. But before I could say anything, Mikey jumped the gun and beats me to it.

"What the hell dad!?" He gasped, looking at both of our parents as if they've gone crazy. Which perhaps they have.

"We don't want some diseased fucked up little kid coming here, trawling through me and Gee's stuff, breaking everything and probably stealing it all too!" He spat angrily. I was actually kind of shocked at the venom in his voice. I mean, Mikey was the person who had mentioned the kid to me first - he had clearly known about this for longer than me - so why was he making such a fuss now? I mean sure, I wasn't too keen on the idea either. But it wasn't that bad. I kind of agreed with him, but that was all a bit much, even I have to say. I kicked him under the table again, and he looked at me, his eyes narrowed and furious behind his glasses. "What?"

Mom got there before I could say a word though. Her gentle face was madder than I had ever seen it, as she glared at her youngest son. "Michael James Way!" she hissed. Whoa. It was always bad news when Mom used that voice on you. I sank further into my seat, hoping that by remaining quiet I could avoid her wrath. "This boy has had a harder life than you could dream of in your worst nightmares, and there is no say in the matter. He is coming to live here, and you will treat him like a member of the family!" Mom continued, starting to get into the flow.

Mikey did shut up pretty fast, but he didn't stop glaring at the table as Mom continued her tirade. He was a fool to let her get into her stride though - you have to head Mom off early, or you'll never hear the end of it. Dad and I are pretty good at ignoring it by now. Just as that thought crossed my mind, Dad stood up, and scraped his chair back noisily. Seemingly oblivious, he smiled at us, and spoke again.

"I just thought you should know Gerard, he's about a month older than you. And of course you have bunk beds - so he'll be sharing a room with you"

My jaw dropped, and I ground my teeth until I could feel them eroding. My room, my space is more important than anything to me. My privacy, I value above and beyond anything else. One thing I was sure of: These next few months could not go fast enough.

/

/

/

~ Hana Belladonna


	4. The jetset life is gonna kill you

**Hello! I have returned! sorry for my week long absence, but i have actually been away camping with no computer access, so i have a good excuse yes?**

**Anyway, enjoy the chapter. Thanks to yuuki Lucia and hells-angels-246 for their reviews :) take them as inspiration, and press the button people!**

/

I don't know what time it was when he came. It was dark, but it's always dark in this hole.

He came, like he did every day. I think it may have been around evening, as it was only a few hours until it would be safe for me to open my curtains.

I hear his footsteps first, slowly making their way along the landing outside the flat, and then the pause.

He takes a deep breath, like he does every day, then knocks on the door softly, four times in quick succession.

I'm already crouching on the other side of the door, wrapped up in a sheet to fend off the chilly drafts that have a habit of making their way under the door.

'Frank?' he calls gently.

'Hello', I whisper back.

It's all I ever say. He never tries to make me say more either, which relieves me. I'm always scared he'll ask me something I can't answer.

I hear the weight of his body as he slides slowly down the outside of the door, until he's sitting leaning against it, in a posture identical to mine.

Then he begins to talk.

I close my eyes, and allow myself to be lulled by the sound of his voice, as he tells me about the world. Some days he describes places he's been. Other days he talks about historical events. Sometimes he even talks about his own life. Whatever he tells me, he describes in such rich vibrant words, that I can almost feel myself there.

I remember the first time he visited.

/

_I could hear footsteps along the landing, and I was scared. I didn't know anyone at all. The only people who could possible want to visit me were the police, or _them.

_The footsteps stopped outside my door, and I was shaking by that point. I huddled up in the furthest corner of the room._

_Knock, knock, knock, knock!_

_I whimpered quietly, but didn't move. The knocking almost relieved me a little, to tell you the truth. If it was _them _they would have just left themselves in. _

'_Frank?' the voice was soft and low._

_I said nothing at all, hoping whoever it was would go away._

'_Frank, my name is Dr. Simmons'_

_The name meant nothing to me. But I shuddered. I hated doctors._

'_Frank, I am a psychiatrist who works with young people. I've been asked to come and see you, to see how you are coping with your legal change in status'_

_I said nothing, and neither did he. I was waiting for him to leave, and I guess he was waiting for me to speak. I just stayed in the corner, barely breathing, watching the door handle in case he tried to break in._

_But minutes turned into hours, and he didn't go. He didn't try and break in either, and I even began to relax a little, although I didn't move a muscle from the corner. _

_It was a long cold night, and he must have been feeling it even more than me, out there in the open. _

_Around three am, I heard the letter box rattling, and sat up. My heart felt like it was about to burst right through my chest and my head was swimming with fear. Then a photograph drifted to the floor._

_Crawling on my hands and knees, I dragged myself across the dirty floor to the door. Picking up the photograph, I scurried like an animal back to my corner. _

_My hands were trembling as I tried to see the image. But it was dark, and I didn't have a hope. _

_There were no lights in the apartment. I couldn't pay bills, and they lay in an abandoned, unopened dusty heap in the hallway. Eventually they just cut the power._

_I stood up, my legs cramping a little, from being in the same place for so long. I walked softly towards the cupboard I used as a bedroom. I owned one tiny battery operated torch. I used it infrequently, knowing I would never get a chance to by another one. Living in the dark like I had for so long, meant that I was virtually blind._

_Not physically, unless the dark had seriously messed with my eyes. But for all the light I saw, I may as well have been blind._

_I flicked on the tiny torch, with my eyes squeezed tightly shut. It took several minutes before I was able to open them properly._

_When I did, I slowly shone the light on the photograph. _

_And choked in shock, dropping the torch. It smashed into pieces on the floor, but I barely noticed. I was staring at the picture..._

_Later, when the night was at its coldest and darkest point, I slowly pushed open the front door for the first time in weeks. Dr Simmons was propped up against the railings opposite the door. I didn't look at him, too afraid to notice his features. He was snoring lightly, managing to shiver even through his sleep. _

_I spread the warmest blanket I had over his sleeping form, and then ran back inside, afraid he might wake up. _

_In the morning, the blanket was left folded neatly outside my door. _

_Ever since then, he has visited every night._

_/_

Today Dr Simmons was talking about music. I'm listening more closely than usual. This is a subject that actually interests me.

The only possession I have left from _before_ is a beaten up old acoustic guitar. It has a string missing, and its so battered and broken you can barely get any noise out of it. But after years of being inside in the dark all day with nothing to do except cry or play, I can make it sound quite nice.

Dr Simmons tells me about the origins of music. He then goes on to talk about the classical music all the way through the centuries, and more modern rock and metal music. He avoids the subject of pop, telling me all the reasons why it doesn't count as music. I'm actually smiling by the time he's finished talking.

I hear him stand up, and prepare to leave. I know he's smiling at the door, as he says

'Goodbye Frank. Until tomorrow'

I always nod my head vigorously at the door, although I know he can't see.

He's the best part of my day. Maybe one day before I die I may even be brave enough to open the door to him.

/

I'm still considering this possibility doubtfully, when the second knock comes.

Wondering if he's forgotten something, I wait for the voice to speak. When it comes, it's not the one I'm expecting.

'Open up! This is Social Services. We know you're in there Frank!'

I take my hand off the door handle like it turned into a live spitting cobra right in front of me.

I run from the hall into the kitchen, then to the door that leads to the other bedroom –the one without a window they could break through.

I stop just long enough to unlock the door, and then run inside. Slamming the door shut, I frantically fumble with the locks, bolting the door behind me—as if I could lock out the reality of what just happened. Gasping for air, I slowly slide down the door until I'm sitting on the floor.

My fucking arm is throbbing, and because of the sobbing and the running, I can't catch my breath. I can feel it coming on—a full blown panic attack. Hyperventilating, I curl up in a ball, wrapping my arms around my knees. Everything slowly goes black.

/

**And thats that :) thoughts? hate it? love it? leave a review!**

**Remember my lovelies, nobody has the right to tell anyone when or whom to love. The only queer people are those who don't love anybody.**

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	5. Disenchanted

**Hello! It is Friday, which means….drum roll…update day! **

**And we get to see more of Gerard! **

**There look at that. Its Friday, and you get an update XD What a great day :p**

/

After that fuck up of a family meal, its no surprise that I'm just a little pissed off.

Heading back to my room, I slam the door behind me and lock it, growling at the bolt as it sticks a little from rust.

I just stand there in the middle of my room, scowling around for a moment. I'm sure I look a complete mess, with my greasy hair, two days worth of stubble, and smeared eyeliner.

I couldn't give a flying fuck. This kid wants to come live in my room, he better get used to the fact that _I _make the rules around here.

I think I'm still reeling from the news though, as thoughts chase themselves through my head, spinning and swirling in indefinable shapes that I can only grasp for a minute, before they slip away.

I'm just so frustrated. You know that feeling where its like everything is just going so wrong, and you can't figure out a way to get back on track? Thats what this feels like to me now.

I'm failing out at every single subject except art, and I only have one year to get back on track. My art is useless as a stand alone -every single art course in the state of New Jersey requires passes in more than one freaking subject.

And my art itself isn't good enough.

I just don't have the inspiration anymore.

I can draw almost anything, and make it look real. But where's the emotion? Hell, as a self proclaimed fuck up, you'd think I'd be able to get it together enough to put some emotion into my work. But nope. Nada. Not a tendril of emotion manages to make it into my work.

That drawing I did last night was the best thing I've done in months.

Goddamnit I need a muse or something.

And then with all that, they have to throw this kid into the mix. I just don't need this right now.

I'm pissing myself off enough with the self pity shit though, so I half heartedly decide to clear some space for the new kids stuff.

Picking up piles of dirty clothes, I head up the stairs and shove them in the washing machine. I haven't got a clue how to work the thing though, so I figure i'll leave that bit for mom.

Back in my room, I shove everything in my closet to one side, and freeze when I see something i'd almost forgotten I owned.

My guitar, all the way back from when I was thirteen.

Its beautiful, and pristine from lack of use. Smooth silky black, its a flying V Jackson, with mother of pearl V inlay on the fret board. I haven't picked it up since I got kicked out of a band when I was thirteen.

For not being good enough at the guitar.

/

_**Its early evening, and the sun is just setting on the edge of the Belleville skyline. **_

_**I'm walking down the street, a guitar case on my back, blasting Black Flag through my headphones. **_

_**I'm excited too; I wrote a new song last night. It doesn't have lyrics yet, and its mostly chord based, but its the first contribution I've made to the band since I joined a few months ago.**_

_**Stepping into a grimy doorway, I don't knock, but just push open the dirt-streaked door, grimacing and wiping my hand on my jeans after I let go of the door handle.**_

_**I climb up the narrow stairs, and into a small room, with large bay windows overlooking the street. The walls are bare, as are the floorboards, and there's no furniture.**_

_**Perfect for a band to practice in. **_

_**The rest of my bandmates are already there, tuning up the instruments.**_

_**Our vocalist, Jamia, looks up in shock at my arrival. Just as I'm wondering who the guy with his back turned to me is, the rest of them look up and see me standing there in confusion.**_

_**I can see exactly the same phrase broadcast in each set of eyes looking at me, written as clearly as if they'd said it outright.**_

**Oh fuck.**

_**Jamia is the first to regain her composure, and smiles at me, although its a poor facade. **_

_**'Gerard!' she says. 'Didn't anyone...call you..?'**_

_**'Nope' I say through gritted teeth. The meaning of the guy with the guitar, in **_**my **_**corner, is slowly becoming crystal clear. **_

_**Jamia winces, and brushes her dark hair out of her eyes. Head and shoulders taller than most girls her age, she usually radiates the composure and confidence needed to be a frontwoman. **_

_**This is the most uncomfortable i've ever seen her look.**_

_**She takes a deep breath in, and looks at the floor. 'Gerard...we, um, kinda decided...maybe you should take a break from the band'. **_

_**'What?' I spit. My whole face feels tight, as if it could crack anytime. **_

_**Jamia looks close to tears. She hates confrontation. 'Gerard...I'm sorry!' she says, and our -no- **_**their **_**drummer Mike steps forward, and wraps an arm around her. Looking me straight in the face, he says 'I'm sorry Gerard. I think you should leave now'**_

_**Nodding dumbly, I turn to go. Then I turn back, and ask the obvious question I should have been shouting from the start.**_

_**'Why?'**_

_**Mike winces a little. 'Your guitar playing...wasn't good enough Gerard. Again, we're all sorry'.**_

_**I have no more words for them, so I just turn and walk out. **_

_**I make it all the way home before I start to cry. **_

_**/**_

I haven't touched my guitar since that day.

I can't ever remember feeling that hurt before. Music used to be to me then what my art is now. I felt like I was going to break apart that day.

After all this time, I still can't stand to see any of them. I don't even take a vindictive pleasure in the fact that the band broke apart a few months later. And I couldn't stand to see my guitar.

That night was the first time I cut.

Somehow, while I was remembering, the guitar has ended up in my arms.

I gently stroke the fretboard. I can still barely play, although I remember a few chords.

I remember bitterly the song I had been working on, that day four years ago.

I strum the opening note, an opening note of D, followed by a Bm. My fingers are clumsy, and I stutter over the chords. But I can feel it again, the prickling in the back of my mind.

I start to sing softly.

'_Hand in mine, into your icy blues_

_And then I said to you_

_We could take to the highway _

_With this trunk of ammunition too_

_I'll end my days with you_

_In a hail of bullets'_

I don't know where the words are coming from, but they fit my feeling so perfectly right now.

I try to change chords, but miss a string, and produce a jarring note.

Suddenly furious at myself, I yank the strap from around my neck, and almost throw my guitar back into the closet.

This always fucking happens! I can't play the guitar. I've always wanted to make music so much its like a permanent ache, but I can't ever play well enough to give life to the notes that float through my head!

I don't even know anyone who plays the guitar that could help me, either.

If I remember correctly, my friend Ray used to play. But he lives hundreds of miles away now.

I'm mad all over again, and I walk out of my room in disgust.

I was planning on grabbing my laptop back from Mikey's room, where he 'borrowed' it the other day, intent on losing myself in watching hot guys making out online, and I stalk across the hallway, breathing hard, as I clench my hands into fists, and feels my nails form half moon crescents on my palms.

So intent, in fact, that I barely noticed my father sprinting through the hall and out the front door, pulling on his black jacket and grabbing his phone and keys as he went. I just heard the last few scattered words, as he called over his shoulder to my mother.

'Broke down the door...young idiots in the office trying to prove something...panic attack...hospitalized...yes, tonight...' and then he was gone.

Shrugging it off, I picked up my laptop, and headed back to the basement, whereupon I found I was no longer in the mood for porn.

Sticking it on the threadbare carpet, I stepped out of my jeans, and fell into bed, suddenly, unexpectedly, and utterly exhausted.

Closing my eyes, I fell into a dreamless sleep almost immediately.

I was so fast asleep I didn't even hear dad opening the front door, and calling my mother. I didn't hear the two of them leave, and I never realized that they didn't return all night long.

/

**Soooo what d'ya think?**

**This actually happened by the way. Gerard got kicked out of a band when he was a teenager for not being good enough at the guitar :0**

**Now you know what I'm gonna say… Review! Review! They make me happy, and make me want to go and write more frerardyness ;p**

_**For a long time I thought I wanted to be a nun. Then I realized what I really wanted was to be a lesbian.**_

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	6. Drowning Lessons

**And here we are! Friday already! Wow, where did the week go? **

**Anyway, enjoy this, my lovelies, and get ready for the BIG chapter next week… and you all know what chapter that is!**

**After meticulous counting, I came to conclusion that the meeting scene would be better had in GERARD's point of view, thank you to everyone who voted one way or the other :) **

**So here is Franks POV, in lieu of that **

_/_

_FPOV_

_I'm floating._

Maybe floating isn't the right word. I can't feel my arms and legs, and I don't think I have a body.

I don't mind. It's nice here. I like it.

It's warm and dark and it feels safe.

It's like being underwater, but it feels thicker than water. Like custard.

For some reason, this realization makes me smile. I don't know where I am, so I may as well be floating in custard.

But it's a little confusing now. Who is 'I'? And what is 'custard' anyway?

I try to remember; it feels like there is something just outside my grasp, something important. I don't understand.

I want to just stay here, floating in custard.

Something's nagging at the back of my (mind?) though, and it's vaguely forming a sense of danger.

Then like a shark sensing blood, I can feel it moving towards me faster and faster a_nd faster and faster and faster and-_

_/_

Awareness didn't just hit me. Awareness slammed into me from all sides, like a thousand sharp stones of knowledge cutting into me.

A thousand splinters of broken glass memories cutting me to pieces.

The agony is drilling through my head, as bright white lights assault my almost blinded eyes, and I howl, and begin to fight like a trapped animal as I realize I'm tied down.

I'm screeching like a banshee, and slamming my head repeatedly against the pillow, ripping tubes from my face, feeling blood in my mouth as I choke out a tube from my throat.

There are tight bonds holding me down, and spikes of pain stabbing into my arms. Then hands are touching my, pushing me into the bed, stabbing me and stroking me, trying to calm me. I recoil in fear and anger, wanting to choke as I feel the touch of skin on mine, and its nothing but pain and hate and fear.

I'm kicking and writhing, throwing punches as far as I can with my hands strapped down and my eyes tightly shut. I throw up, spilling bile across the bed, gagging and heaving with dry sobs as I scream my defiance and fury at the people who **think they can touch me**, _screaming and howling in this___**PAIN**_**-**_

'Stop'

The voice was neither harsh nor loud, yet instantly every hand on me withdrew, and I was left shaking and sobbing in my blood, sweat and vomit.

'Frank'

The person wasn't asking me a question, or even talking to me. He was acknowledging that he knew who I was.

My eyes were still shut tightly against the agonizing light, but I heard footsteps crossing the floor towards me. I heard a slight squeaking that indicated lino. My brain was going into overdrive now. White lights, tubes down my throat, lino floors?

I'd bet everything I had (which, let's face it, wasn't all that much) that I was in hospital.

The footsteps stopped beside my bed, and I flinched away as I felt cool hands on my face.

'Stay calm' the voice ordered, and I realized that he –because the voice was clearly male -was tying on a blindfold.

I sagged back in relieved exhaustion, to be free from the light, and was able to listen to him this time, as he spoke:

'Frank, my name is Donald Way. I am here partially because I work in social services, but mostly because I am your new legal guardian'

I made no reply to him. That was bullshit, I was emancipated. I would have laughed, but I never laugh anymore

As if reading my mind, he continued 'we were already coming to assess you tomorrow morning-'

I heard a rustle of fabric and imagined him pulling back a sleeve, to look at a watch I presumed.

'Ah, no, _this _morning.

'However, I received a call telling me that two of my younger colleagues decided they may as well do the job after they finished work.'

There was anger in his voice, as he continued 'I can only apologize for the violent way in which your...ah..._home _was accessed.'

I didn't like his tone of voice when he used the word 'home'. I know it was a mess, but it was _my _mess.

'However, that aside, the living conditions we found, and the lack of any record of you attending school for over a year, means we had no choice but to withdraw your emancipation. You are now a ward of the state, and I am your new foster father'.

My head started spinning as he said that, and I fell back into the pillows, unable to support my own weight anymore.

I heard footsteps leaving the room, as he said.

'I will come in the morning, to take to my home.' There was kindness in his voice, as he finished with 'in the meantime, I suggest you try and sleep'

/

I didn't sleep all night.

Every sound grated on my nerves, and I flinched at people moving through the room and corridors. I was grateful every minute, for the blindfold Mr. Way had left me with.

In spite of how tightly it was wrapped around my head, I could still vaguely sense the light surrounding me, and I was aware when it began to lighten. The bustle and noise increased imperceptibly, and I realized for the first time, that I must be in a ward with other people.

I could hear people I presumed were nurses, talking to those around me. Taking blood tests, hooking up machines that beeped and whined.

No one was foolish enough to approach me, which relieved me greatly.

Finally, from somewhere down the corridor, I heard a familiar voice coming closer;

'…at home for a week or so. Good timing; Gerard and Mikey are on holiday for the next two weeks'

Two sets of footsteps turned into the ward, and stopped beside my bed. I turned my head unseeingly towards them, waiting.

'Frank, I'm here to take you home now' Mr. Way said.

No shit.

'Can you walk, or do you want to use a wheelchair to get to the car?'

I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. Summoning every bit of willpower I had, and trying not to focus on how much of an idiot I must look, I managed to choke out one rasping word;

'Walk!'

When I felt a helpful hand on my arm I pushed it away. At some point, they had removed the bonds, and I was free to move. I forced my wasted muscles into line, and managed to sit up. Shifting sideways, I dangled my legs over the side until my feet touched the ground.

I took a deep breath, and pushed myself to my feet.

I was standing, but it was only by force of sheer will power that I didn't fall.

I would not be an invalid!

Mr. Way gently grasped my shoulders, and steered me through the corridors. I was breathing shallowly, feeling ill at so many people being close to me at once. Eventually, we were outside, in what I presumed was a parking lot.

It was only when I felt concrete under my feet, and cool air on my body, that I realized I was barefoot, and wearing a pair of hospital pajamas.

I flushed with humiliation, and stumbled on a stray stone.

Trying to hold back treacherous tears, I didn't realize we'd stopped, until I heard the sound of the car door opening.

Mr. Way gently guided me into the back seat, and buckled me in.

I didn't stop him. I was beyond caring.

I had only one thought in my mind, and that was wondering how long until they left me alone long enough to kill myself.

I couldn't fuck it up; I'd never get another chance. This would need careful planning.

But I'd manage it. So what if it was three months early. Now I was gone, I'd never see them again anyway.

/

It took a good few minutes of driving before I realized there was another person in the car.

The purr of the engine had masked the sound of her breathing, but when she spoke to me, it was weird. I instantly felt safe. The sound of her voice was low and quiet, and soothing.

'Frank, my name is Donna' she said softly.

I almost cracked a smile at that one. Donna Way and Donald Way?

'I am your new foster mother.

'We have two sons, of around your age. My youngest is called Mikey. I'm not sure how much you'll see of him. However, you will be sharing a room with Gerard, my eldest.'

I bit back a groan. This would be harder than I thought.

I lost concentration, and missed a few sentences '…want you to feel welcome here Frank. Like a part of our family'.

Her voice was sweet, and I couldn't doubt her sincerity. I almost felt guilty for planning to kill myself on her watch.

Almost.

I made no reply, as talking hurt my ripped up throat even more. When the engine came to a stop, the silence was startling. Then Mr. Way was opening my door and helping me out.

I stood up slowly, gripping the edge of the door, as I heard two unfamiliar sets of footsteps walking towards me. Too many sounds to keep track of now, it was overwhelming.

I was swaying slightly, my head swimming. I could feel how weak my legs were, and I was afraid to try taking another step.

Just as the heavier tread reached us, my legs suddenly buckled, and I was falling…

…waiting for the crack of my head on concrete that never came.

/

***Gasps dramatically* **

**Who can guess what happens next? Can anyone? Of course you can! **

**But it's still a cliffie ;)**

**Remember, my lovelies****, ****homosexuality is god's way of insuring that the truly gifted aren't burdened with children.**

**Until next week!**

**-Hana Belladonna**


	7. Demolition Lovers

**Hello! Apologies for the wait, I managed to break my computer...yes very clever Hana. **

**Anyway, here is the chapter you have all been waiting for! Drum roll... They meet! **

**Well, sort of ;p**

**/**

**/**

**/**

Gpov

You know, I was always aware that spending life as a gay teenage guy with anger management issues and too many scars on his arms was never going to be fun.

Most of my waking life is spent creating problems for myself, or avoiding dealing with the ones I already created, and life has just never worked right for me.

Consequently, I adore escapism. Leaving this all behind, going somewhere else in my head, away from my sorry existence? I love it. So it should come as no surprise that I have the deepest respect for sleep. For a few hours a night, I win the fight against my insomnia and get to dissolve into blissful ignorance. Sleep and I understand each other very well, and we spend as much time together as possible.

Which is why it stands to reason that I would be just a little irritated to find myself violently wrenched from these precious golden hours of ignorance, and forced to deal with reality at a simply hideous hour in the morning.

Waking up is never fun.

Waking up at nine in the fucking morning, to the shrill ringing of the phone drilling through your head, because your little brother can't be bothered to get his lazy ass out of bed to take a little trip down the hall and answer it, is utterly infuriating, maddening, exasperating, irritating beyond belief.

What? I can use long words.

Stumbling sleepily up the steps from my cave, I kept my eyes shut as I felt my way down the wide hallway, to where the phone hung on its hook. Slumping against the wall, I didn't bother to check the caller ID before I pulled it to my ear.

"Hello?" I mumbled.

"Gerard? Its mom. Are you up yet?"

"Uh...not really...?"

I heard her familiar exasperated sigh, and smiled to myself. Something's never change, thank god.

"Well you need to be up soon. Dad and I will be back, and we're bringing someone with us"

I squint at the carpet between my knees, trying to remember...oh! Last night, Dad running out yelling about that kid. Ah...

"The new foster kid?" I ask, suddenly wide awake.

"Yes honey, he had to be taken to hospital last night. Dad's just gone in to pick him up; we should be home in about fifteen minutes. I want you and Mikey dressed and ready"

"No probs, I'll go drag Mikey out of bed"

"Okay honey" she replied, then hesitated. "Gerard, he's very...well...he's not used to people... Be kind"

Pissed off that she even had to tell me that, I muttered the affirmative, and hung up. Standing up, I wandered into the kitchen to make some coffee, banging on Mikey's door on the way. As I filled the kettle, I mused over her words. Not used to people? I wondered what that meant, exactly.

Mikey staggered in groaning, his hair mussed up and his eyeliner smeared. "Care to explain _why _precisely you woke me, oh brother dear?" He moaned, slumping against the bench and filling a cup with coffee. He was sickly pale, and had rings under his eyes. Looked like another night spent online to Alicia to me.

"Mom called. The new kids gonna be here in fifteen, and we gotta be ready" I informed him, grabbing some coffee of my own, before heading down to get dressed, leaving his expletives at the news hanging in the air behind me.

/

I took a last look in the dirty mirror hanging over my desk.

Ew.

Too pale, greasy hair, eyeliner and ripped skinny jeans. I looked like an emo poster-child.

Not that I particularly gave a damn what I looked like. In fact I often took a great deal of pleasure in looking as bad as I felt. Like it helped relieve the stress in the same way cutting did.

Just then, I heard the crunch of gravel as the car pulled into the drive, and sighed. Taking a last regretful look around my room, I took the steps two at a time, arriving in the hall at the same time as Mikey.

Here goes my privacy for the next few months...

We exchanged a loaded glance, as our parents voices drifted across to us, and then stepped forwards in unison, and opened the door.

/

Broken.

That was my first thought.

Fragile, was my second.

I've seen some messed up kids, and some abused kids before. But I have to say, the tiny figure in front of us was the saddest thing I have ever seen in my seventeen years.

He was wearing a pair of baggy hospital pyjamas, that hung off his tiny frame in a way that left no doubt as to how emaciated he was. He was more of a skeleton than a person.

They were overlong too, hiding his feet and his hands so he seemed to be wrapped in a shroud.

He hung his head, as he steadied himself against the car door with a skeletal hand, and his dark hair fell in long matted strands over his face. The black tresses were caught up in something...was that fabric? I realised he was wearing a blindfold.

Oh my God.

I didn't even realise I'd kept walking, until I came to a stop in front of him. It was like I was in a dream.

Lifting his head, he turned towards me unseeingly, and swayed slightly.

Then, without warning, his legs gave way and he pitched forwards.

Acting on reflex, I threw myself forwards and managed to get my arms under him just before he hit the ground. I lifted him up, with one arm under his knees, and my other arm around his bony torso. I cradled him against my chest, unable to believe how light he was. He weighed nothing at all, as though he were made of air, not flesh and blood.

In that moment it was just me and him, alone in our own world. Looking down at his filthy white face, a black piece of cloth wrapped around his eyes, I felt a surge of emotion so strong it shocked me. I knew, right then, that I would do whatever it took to save this boy...Frank.

/

I had forgotten other people actually existed for a moment, but the slamming of the car door brought me back to reality. I looked around, slightly bemused to see nothing had changed; didn't they all realise something monumental had just happened?

"Just carry him in would you Gerard?" Dad said, "He must have been weaker than we judged".

I couldn't form any words just then, so I simply carried him into the house, following Mum and Mikey into the sitting room.

"Oh, no Gerard, not in here. He's sharing the room with you remember? Could you take him into your room, and put him in the bottom bunk please?" Mum asked, her brown eyes full of concern as she looked at Frank.

"The doctors said he just needs a lot of sleep" Dad added, walking in. "Actually Gerard, I'll take him."

Nodding acquiescence, I carefully passed the unconscious form over to my father, and sat down on the sofa with Mikey. My arms felt strangely empty, with him gone.

I couldn't form the words to say the absolute shock in my mind. Luckily, Mikey did it for me.

"What the fuck..." he said slowly, summing it up in one. Mum didn't even bother telling him off for swearing, she just sighed sadly.

"Mum...why didn't you warn us? I mean, what the HELL has happened to that kid?" Mikey said, burying his face in his hands.

"We didn't know, Mikey! We didn't know how bad it was..." Mum said, looking older than I'd ever seen her.

"So...what's actually wrong with him?" I asked, finding my voice again. I tried to keep my expression deadpan, not letting on how much it already mattered to me. I don't think I fooled anyone though.

"The doctors say he's severely malnourished, and after months in the dark, his skin burns in minutes, and his eyes can't stand daylight. But apart from that, they can't tell us anything. He went into convulsions every time someone tried to examine him."

I nodded slowly. "What are we going to do Mom?" I asked, feeling both younger and older at the same time.

"We're going to look after him until he regains his health, and reintegrate him into the schooling system. Just help him to understand how to survive in the real world."

"It's only for a few months, then he turns eighteen and is no longer a ward of the state" Dad added, returning to the room.

I couldn't say anything for a minute, and then I stood abruptly.

"I'm going to sit with Frank" I announced, leaving before anyone could comment,

/

As I reached my door, I was suddenly afraid to enter. I was seized with an irrational fear that he had died in the brief moments he had been alone. And I was scared shitless by how much that thought terrified me.

Forcing the idea from my mind, I pushed open the door, and walked in, making myself look.

Lying in my bed, between clean sheets I certainly hadn't put there, Frank looked like nothing more than a doll. He was perfectly still, but for the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each shallow breath he took.

His dark hair was spread out on the pillow around him, and his white hands were clenched into fists on top of the bedspread.

Now I had a chance to look at his face, I was intrigued. His cheeks were hollow, and his lips had a greyish tinge. His skin was so pale and dirty, and unhealthy looking. Yet I couldn't deny he looked beautiful to me.

So beautiful.

And...so vaguely familiar. I don't know where, but I could swear I had seen this boy before.

Pulling a chair up to beside the bed, I sat down, my eyes never leaving his face.

"Frank" I murmured. "Frankie..."

I couldn't stop myself. Reaching out, I traced the back of his hand, feeling the ridges of bone under my fingertips. His skin was so soft. Slipping my hand under his, I gently unprized his fingers from their death grip on the bed.

Holding his hand, I reminded myself this was just to comfort him in whatever dreams he might be having.

Not because it meant anything to me.

This broken boy lying in my bed needed a friend to help him more than anything.

Right then and there, I vowed to be that person.

/

/

/

**Haha I didn't even write that chapter. It wrote itself, spilling onto the screen of its own accord. I wasn't going to make Gee that soppy so early on. But hey, if Frankie turned up on your doorstep like that wouldn't you be the same? **

**So what did you think? Tell me in a review people! **

_**Even if I were blind. Even if I had never seen your face, I already know you well enough that you could break my heart.**_

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	8. To the end

**Mama is holding me. The sunlight is shining through an open window, the light falling directly where we sit, in Gramma's old wooden rocking chair. I'm small too, small enough to curl up in her lap, and the feeling of her arms around me is so warm and safe, that I want to cry. **

**But I don't know why. **

**Oops. Turn out I am crying. But its happy tears, tears of relief and love. I still don't understand.**

**Mama puts two fingers under my chin, and tips my face up to hers. The gesture feels familiar somehow, and I feel strangely nauseous. Like that slightly sick feeling you get when you're somewhere really high, looking down. "Darling?" mama says quizzically. **

**I hate that word. **

**Mama's face is changing now. Her pretty brown hair lengthening and becoming dirty and blonde, and when I look at her eyes I don't recognise her. Her features are melting and bubbling, and nails are digging into my wrist. I throw myself off her lap with a cry of horror, and hit my head on a wall that certainly wasn't there a minute ago. Looking around I gasp, as I take in the filthy room. No sunlight here; the only window in the room is boarded up, and I can't find a door. **

**She's stalking towards me now, her eyes intent, and her features almost ridiculously childlike. I turn and scrabble at the walls desperately, seeking any way out of this nightmare. I scream and scream for help, but no one comes. **

**She's stopped walking now, and just stands there watching me, a tiny smile on her red lips.**

**I slowly sink to the floor, and close my eyes, willing myself not to scream. **

"**Mama" the word escapes my lips, and I choke back a sob, as the last tear I will cry for the next eleven years, makes its slow and winding journey down my cheek. **

**I never meant to make any noise, but as soon as she touches me, I just can't stop the screaming. **

/

As soon as I wake up, I realize I'd rather be asleep. Considering precisely what I was dreaming of, that says a great deal about how I feel about my surroundings.

Besides, I just can't stop shaking. These tremors that seem to come from somewhere deep inside my chest, ripping through my body like they're never going to stop. I don't know where they're coming from, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold them in.

"hey..." the sleepy murmur comes from somewhere above me, and I dive under the blanket, trying to stop the trembling.

It doesn't work, as I feel a soft thump, as someone jumps from the bunk above me to land on the floor. The bed sags a little, and I shrink away from the movement, burying myself in the blanket, trying to not let any sound escape me.

"Hey" he says again (cause the voice is definitely male), and tries to draw the covers back. "n…n…no!" I choke out, and curl up tightly. I don't want anyone to see me like this! Not now, not when the memory of mama's face is still spinning through my mind, and I can feel blood in my mouth, the taste metallic on my tongue, where I bit myself in fear. I can't handle this!

To my surprise, the person stops touching me, and stays still for a moment. Then I forget to be afraid for a moment, as to my shock, the person starts to sing.

"_I never said I'd lie and wait forever  
>If I died, we'd be together<br>I can't always just forget her  
>But she could try"<em>

His voice shocks me. It's not a classically beautiful voice, but it has a raw edge to it that creates so much emotion, and every note is perfect. __

_"At the end of the world  
>Or the last thing I see<br>You are  
>Never coming home<br>Never coming home  
>Could I? Should I?<br>And all the things that you never ever told me  
>And all the smiles that are ever ever...<br>Ever..."_

His voice cracks on the last word, and he curses to himself, and stands up to go.

"Wait"

I don't know where the word comes from. I'm still frozen in place, listening to the echoes of his voice in my head. But somehow, I'm speaking again.

"Please..don't go"

He sits down on the edge of the bed again, and I wrap my arms around my face, as I say "sing? Please?"

I don't even know why I'm asking, but it feels like the darkness pressing in around me is keeping me safe now. His voice has a spell in it that drives away my demons, for a little while. Then I realize. I've finally stopped shaking.

He sighs, and then continues, a little more self conscious this time.

"_Ever…_

_Get the feeling that you're never  
>All alone and I remember now<br>At the top of my lungs in my arms she dies  
>She dies<em>

_At the end of the world  
>Or the last thing I see<br>You are  
>Never coming home<br>Never coming home  
>Could I? Should I? <em>

_And all the things that you never ever told me  
>And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me<br>Never coming home  
>Never coming home<br>Could I? Should I? _

_And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me  
>For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me"<em>

I sigh, and feel a smile come to my face. The sensation shocks me so much that begin to struggle to get up. What am I doing here? In a strange house, in a strange bed, waking up from nightmares in the middle of the night, to find some strange boy singing to me.

He stops, as I begin to sit up.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

"I don't know" I whisper.

He pauses for a moment, and then asks hesitantly "do…do you want to take off the blindfold?"

Do I? I don't have a fucking clue if I want to or not. I mean, it's dark, so I'm, not gonna get hurt by the light. And he won't be able to see me…and I won't be able to see him…but I'm so scared. It feels like taking off the blindfold would mean facing the world, something I never intended to do.

"Okay" I whisper.

I lift my hands to my head, but my arms are so frail and wasted that I can't keep them in the air long, and my fingers fumble with the knot. My face burns with humiliation, and I try and ignore the agony in my shaking muscles. A tiny sob escapes me, and I flush deeper, turning deliberately away from him. Then his hands are pushing mine out the way, and he deftly unties the knot. The strip of cloth falls into my lap, and I rub my face with relief, feeling all the blood rush to my head.

It's silly, but I felt like a huge weight had just been lifted. I could escape now.

But just then I didn't feel like I could muster the energy to escape even if an unattended noose or razor blade was left right in front of me. I was just so broken. So tired. So god-damned bone weary of living. I didn't want to be me anymore. I would have given anything to take myself away, out of my head. I almost reached for my razor blades, before I realized they _wouldn't be there._

Lifting my hands to my hot cheeks, I wondered why they felt damp. Then as another tear rolled over my fingers, I gasped in disbelief. I was crying. I was actually crying.

I hadn't cried in eleven years.

I started to sob then. Deep choking shudders that came from somewhere inside me, tears pouring hot down my cheeks. My arms wrapped around myself, I cried in a way I didn't know was possible. The misery was in me right down to my bones. It was just a deep ache, the horrible pain of being alive. I wanted to cut my wrists open and watch all the noxious black blood flow out, and maybe then, just maybe I could feel clean again.

Suddenly I felt fingertips on my face, as this unknown boy stroked my face from my cheekbone to my jaw line. I unconsciously leaned into his touch, feeling comforted by it. It reminded me of mama, in a way.

Then I realized what I was doing. Flinching away from his touch, I fled to the furthest corner of the bed. He'd hate me if he knew what disgusting thing he was touching.

Even if he wouldn't hate me for being gay (which, of course, he would. I know what people think of me) he would hate me for what I've done.

"Just leave me alone!" I choke out, and bury my fingers in my ears until I hear the creak of bedsprings that means he's returned to bed.

Rolling over restlessly, I hide under the covers, and cry myself to sleep.


	9. Vampires will never hurt you

**Hello there frerard readers! This may just be the most interesting chapter I've posted yet! The boys meet in daylight! And Gee finds out a few of Franks dirty little secrets...**

**Enjoy!**

/

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

That was my first thought when I woke up. It was also my second.

I blushed red under the covers, even though no one could see me. What must this new kid think of me? What had possessed me to start _singing _to him? In the middle of the night? When he was upset, in a strange place, with no one he knew?

Oh god this was embarrassing.

Right on time, I heard stirrings in the bunk below me, and the kid –Frank –started to wake up. Sucks for him, but there was no way in hell I was letting him know I was awake. If I never mentioned it, maybe he'd think it was all a dream...maybe.

Just then I heard the creak of the stairs outside my room, followed by a soft knock. I didn't turn over, but I could already tell from the pattern of the footsteps, that it was my mother who'd entered the room. I concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply, feeling a mixture of relief and irritation as she addressed the clearly wakeful Frank first.

"Frank? How did you sleep?" she murmured softly, so as not to wake me.

"I...fine thank you Mrs Way" I heard him mumble. It shocked me, to be perfectly honest. I had always scoffed when people described voices as 'rusty'. But there was really no other word for the aching sound of Franks voice. He sounded like he hadn't spoken in years.

"Do you want to come up for some breakfast now honey? You can meet the rest of the family then?"

"No! I mean, I'm not hungry thank you" he said quickly.

I wished I could see his face.

"Well...okay then Frank. You can eat later, when my oldest son Gerard does. He's the one in the bunk above you"

"Oh, okay. Thank you Mrs Way"

"It's fine dear. And please, call me Donna"

I heard her footsteps crossing the room, and then the exhalation of breath from the bunk below me. Forgetting my embarrassment I leaned over the side, hanging my head down so I could see Frank. The kid has his head turned away from me, his thin arms wrapped around himself.

"Morning" I said quietly.

"Oh!" Frank gasped, and snapped his head up to look at me. To look me directly in the eyes with a pair of stunning hazel eyes, that were quite possibly the most beautiful colour I had ever seen.

It was right about then that I fell out of bed.

I plummeted several feet, to land on the floor in a tangled, unruly mess of blankets, pillows and sheets. Talk about undignified... "Oh for fucks sake..." I muttered, as I tried to figure out which way was up or down, with limited success. Wrenching blankets this way and that, I almost managed to get my head out. Only to be distracted by the most adorable giggle I had ever heard.

Shit, was that _him_? I didn't even know boys could make that noise! I couldn't help it, I snorted. Dead silence filled the room, and I cautiously pulled my way free of the last few blankets. Looking up at the bed, I saw Frank sitting on the edge staring at me like he'd never seen anyone laugh before. His tiny face was so blank and bewildered, that I swear to god it nearly broke my heart. What had _happened _to him that he couldn't remember a laugh?

"Well that's one way to wake up!" I said brightly, trying to cast off the awkward aura. Frank shuffled his feet, and looked down.

Just as I was thinking frantically, trying to come up with one of my genius one liners, he suddenly spoke.

"Is that a Jackson?" he blurted out in a rush, then raised his hands to cover his mouth, as if he couldn't belief he'd spoken.

I followed his gaze to see my guitar propped up in a corner of my room, where I'd left it after my disastrous attempt the other day. Damn, was it really only the other day? I just couldn't escape the crawling feeling on the back of my neck. The sensation that something had changed, inextricably. Like there was no going back.

"Yes" I confirmed. "Wanna try her?"

He nodded shyly, so I stood and picked her up. Handing her to Frank, I watched the wonder on his face as he stroked her glossy body. It reminded me of a child. It was so strange. Frank was quite clearly my age, or a little older. Yet the look in his eyes told the story of someone who had seen and done things no teenager ever should have. But his mannerisms were so young, and so innocent.

Sighing I turned to grab a pick from my desk, and I passed it to him. Just in time to see his hand slide along the fretboard. The sleeve of his hospital pyjamas fell back just a little, and I caught my first glimpse of his wrist.

It was like looking into a mirror. How many times had I looked at my own arms and seen exactly the same thing? Far, far too many.

Franks wrist was bony and pale. Every vein stood out. But almost everything else was obscured by the mass of puckered scars. Ranging from pure white to angry dark purple, they coated the inside of his wrist, forming an endless patter, and danced how far I could not see.

I caught my breath, and opened my mouth to speak. Then I hesitated. But before I could decided, the door opened again. I hadn't even heard the stairs this time, as mom walked in, wrapped in a pink fluffy bathrobe, and wafting the smell of burnt toast.

"Oh you're awake" she smiled. "I see you're showing Frank your guitar Gerard?"

"Yep" I mumbled, not making eye contact. Mom knew the last time I'd used that guitar.

"Do you play Frank?" she asked.

"Um...a little" he mumbled shyly.

"Maybe you can show us sometime then" she smiled. "But I came to say breakfast is ready now"

I wrinkled my nose at the burning smell "are you sure Mom? It doesn't smell it..."

"Yes well...Mikey stuck another fork in the toaster. Don't worry. He was fine. This time..."

"I wasn't worried" I muttered.

Not quietly enough however, as she fixed me with a stern look, before telling us she expected us upstairs in two minutes.

/

Sitting at the table with Frank was one of the most awkward meals I have ever had. The boy barely ate! He just pushed his toast around the plate miserably, only forcing a crumb into his mouth when Mom reminded him he was actually supposed to eat the stuff.

I couldn't blame her though. He sat across from me, still sitting in those dreadful hospital pyjamas, his eyes vacant and stained, picking his food apart with long pale fingers, his greasy black hair falling over his face. He was so scarily thin. I don't think I've ever seen anyone who needed food more.

Mom tried to make conversation, but I was half asleep, and Frank was definitely not the talking type.

When we were eventually allowed to leave the table, after Mom's chatter had dried up within five minutes, he jumped from his seat eagerly. I raised an eyebrow at him, but he didn't notice, as he asked Mom how to get to the bathroom.

Shrugging, I picked up the plates and headed for the kitchen.

/

As I walked down the hallway towards the bathroom, I heard something strange. A weird noise, which I barely recognised. A kind of choking...no, a retching.

What Frank couldn't have known, was that the lock on our bathroom door had never worked.

I knocked on the door, to no reply. Without thinking, I pushed open the door, to stop still in shock.

Frank was kneeling on the floor, his face chalk white. His upper torso was bare, and his shirt lay next to him. His ribs stuck out unbelievably far. I had no idea he was _that _thin. But all this was only registered by the secondary part of my consciousness.

I was focussed mostly on the fact that his fingers were halfway down his throat, and a stream of watery vomit was pouring out of his mouth into the toilet.

Oh my god.

I didn't realise I had said it out loud, until Frank snapped around to look at me. Instantly, he seemed to just crumple before me. He just fell, like someone had removed all his bones, and slumped to the floor sobbing.

"Please don't hurt me!" he choked. "I'm sorry!"

He began to drag himself into the corner, shaking violently. Repeating "I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry" in the saddest, most frightened voice I had ever heard.

All I could do was stand there, looking in horror at the tiny broken figure lying on the tiles in front of me. "You're...bulimic" I muttered. It was a statement, and it was quiet. But Frank gasped little I'd hit him.

It took me two seconds to cross the floor and crouch down next to him. I gently stroked the back of his shaking hand, and although he tried to pull away, I took it. wanted to hold him, but I didn't want to frighten him anymore. I could feel his bones through his skin, which in itself felt paper thin. I just sat next to him, refusing to let go of his hand, not caring that it was sticky with vomit, and smelt appalling. I just couldn't let go of Frank. It felt like he'd be gone forever if I did.

"Please...please don't touch me" he whimpered.

"You don't know what I am...You'd hate me if you knew what I am!"

He turned away from me, tears pouring hot and wet down his face. I gently reached out and cupped his chin in my hand to make him look at me, but he flinched away like I'd slapped him.

"You don't understand!" he choked out, cowering against the wall.

"I'm...I'm gay Gerard"

/

**Oooh! Whats Gee gonna have to say to that hmm? Tell me your ideas! And what did you think of Frank being bulimic? Did anyone guess that was coming? It was part of the plot from the start, but I didn't want to reveal it too early ;)**

**Until next time my lovelies!**

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxo**


	10. The Ghost of You

_**So here it is! To those of you that are surprised at the gay revelation coming so soon, let me say that there is a lot more to this story than simply two boys falling in love, and therefore the issue of Frank's sexuality is only a minor detail in comparison to everything else he needs to tell Gee about. **_

_**Also, to **_Sarah 3_**, Bulimia is where people binge, and then purge. Anorexia is where they abstain from eating. Technically Frank is both, as he doesn't eat, then still purges. However, as Gerard only saw him vomiting, his immediate assumption was bulimia. **_

_**In this chapter you will have a lot of clues towards Frankie's past, which is very complicated, and obviously, very tragic. Who can guess who any of the character I refer to are? **_

_**/**_

The words seemed to reverberate through the air between us, stretching across the gap. His eyes widened, and I swear I was as shocked at what I had said as he was. What, what in God's name had possessed me to tell this beautiful creature kneeling in front of me, that I was gay?

Oh no no no what had I done? I couldn't take it; I couldn't bear to see him look at me with the disgust and disdain that they all did. I had to share a room with him! I couldn't face seeing the revulsion in his eyes every time he looked at me. Every night when he went to sleep, and every morning as he left the room when he thought I was still asleep and he didn't have to look at me.

I felt so sick. I leaned over the ceramic toilet bowl and retched again, releasing a thin stream of bile, but nothing more. I had already thrown up almost everything I had to give. His hand was still in mine, unbelievably soft and warm, and I felt the pad of his thumb as he traced soothing circles into my hand. No oh god no this was all wrong!

Why did someone like me have to be born? I was unwhole, and wrong. I was forsaken, and broken. I was a disgusting creature that deserved to die, and was only still alive out of some ridiculous respect for family that mama had instilled in me –family who I knew would actually be happier if they heard I was dead. But I couldn't die without knowing the truth once and for all, and they had promised they would tell me the truth when I was eighteen!

I was such a fucking nightmare, a burden on anyone. Surrounded by demons, I had no will to fight, and I had no will to live. So sedated as they medicated my brain, and I slowly went insane, and I was lost and ruined forever. I was unlovable!

But I had to know for sure.

Just the fact calmed me slightly. I could still remember the look on _her _face as she triumphantly told me he was alive. That he was alive and didn't want me. That he had a new family, that he didn't love me. That he went out of his way to make sure I wasn't okay.

Then she told me she was lying. That he was dead after all.

Then she told me that was a lie too.

As I lay there in her arms, on the filthy carpet, blood dripping down my torso, and sticky residue coating my chest, she told me on my eighteenth birthday, she would tell me the truth.

I had spent the last few months trying to block it all from my mind, to act and pretend that the reason I was still alive wasn't because I thought they might actually come back and tell me the truth, but because I wanted to go off the radar, and not leave a child suicide for anyone to clean up. But I couldn't fight the truth anymore. I was just desperate to know if there was one single person left on the planet, who could remember, and maybe remind me that I hadn't, in fact, been born this horrible deplorable creature.

Someone who could remember as anything more than my Fathers son.

/

It was only then that I realised Gerard was still kneeling by my side holding my hand. His fingers entwined with mine, despite the vomit that covered them, and the secret I had just told him.

I looked at him. Looked at his pale face and deep hazel eyes. I was so frightened, and I was begging with my eyes, for him to reassure me. That he wouldn't hate me now he knew I was gay. But his expression seemed torn somehow, and I knew he was just trying to decide whether or not I was being serious. I knew that once he found out I was being serious, that I was gay, any sliver of friendship we may have developed over the last day or so, would vanish instantly. I couldn't bear to watch it happen.

Pulling my hand out of his, I tried to stand up abruptly, but my stomach muscles wrenched and twisted, and I doubled over in agony. Next moment Gerard was beside me, and pulling me into his arms. He didn't say a word, just cradled me softly as he sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

Against my better judgement, against all my best intentions, against what every bit of experience I had ever had was telling me, I wrapped my arms around his neck and burst into tears like a child, against his shoulder.

I had thought that after all these years, I was finally numb. No matter what they did, they hadn't been able to make me cry. How was it, that all the pain, both physical and emotional, that they had inflicted upon me, couldn't break me, while this simple act of kindness could? I knew it wasn't real. That he just didn't want to disappoint his parents, and he felt it was his duty to comfort me. But for the life of me, I couldn't break away from the feel of strong arms around me, arms that were holding me to him not to hurt, but to comfort.

My body was still convulsing with sobs, but I knew I couldn't stay in his arms for too long, or I wouldn't be able to take it when he rejected me. Pulling away from him, I staggered to my feet, and leant against the sink for support. I could see my haggard and filthy reflection in the mirror, and I looked like a corpse.

The idea amused me and filled me with longing at the same time.

Three months.

I didn't realise I had said it out loud, 'til Gerard turned towards me, confusion written on his beautiful face.

"Three months 'til what Frank?"

Ah _shit._

/

In the end I simply shook my head. My throat hurt too much to speak anyway, even if I had the slightest inclination.

Gerard seemed to understand this, but then he stood up and took a step towards me. I flinched away instinctively, and he looked horrified at himself.

"I...I just thought you might want to clean up" he said slowly, trying not to scare me. "besides, I can't guarantee my parents or Mikey won't be along soon"

I could see him point, but I couldn't muster even the energy to turn on the tap, let alone clean off all the vomit.

Leaning past me, Gerard flushed the toilet, and then turned on the tap. Wetting a flannel, he brought it to my face, and gently wiped around my eyes to get rid of the tears, then removed the streaks of vomit down my chin and chest. The feel of the warm water running down my body was enough to bring tears to my eyes again. Gerard gently wiped these away, and then poured me a glass of water from beside the sink.

I gulped it down greedily, wincing at the burn in my throat. I swilled some around my mouth, and spat into the sink, watching as the pink water swirled down the plughole.

Seeing the confusion I Gerard's eyes, I rasped "my throat burns all the time...and sometimes I cough up blood".

Yeah just like the freak I am. But any food that went into my mouth made me feel so disgusting. I didn't deserve to be full; I didn't deserve any kind of nourishment at all.

Gerard didn't look away from me however, just gently cupped my face in his hand. I realised then, that he hadn't responded to my statement regarding my sexuality yet.

I was torn.

I didn't want to lie to this bizarre beautiful boy who had sung to me to help me sleep. Who had cleaned me up when I had been trying to destroy myself a little more. And who had simply held me as I cried.

But as I opened my mouth to tell him that it was true. That I was gay. That he shouldn't be touching me for that very reason, he stopped me by asking a question of his own first.

"Frankie...what about three months?"

It was then that I realised for some reason, for some _stupid _reason I could not lie to him. I lifted my head and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Three months until I can die, Gerard. Three months until I can end this ridiculous farce of a life"

/

**I considered continuing this chapter for longer, but I think it would be better if we hear a little bit more from Gerard, about how this makes him feel. Was I right? :) **

**Does anyone have any clues as to what might have happened in Frankie's past yet? **

**I was also listening to 'Nightmare' by Avenged Sevenfold when I wrote this. Did anyone get the quotes? **

_**I will wander 'til the end of time, half alive without you.**_

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	11. Mama

_**This chapter is written for a friend of mine, who, through faults on both our sides, no longer considers himself my friend. I wrote this chapter for him, as I know he used to read my stories. H, this is for you. **_

_**I'm sorry**_.

/

/

/

When I was younger, I used to have a friend.

Okay that sounds worse than it actually was. What I meant, was that once upon a time, there was someone I used to spend time with, actual enjoyable recreational time with, other than Mikey. Someone I used to be able to tell my feelings to, and someone who wouldn't judge me. A person who could understand the terrible thoughts that came into my head, and look me in the eye and say he felt the same sometimes. Someone who would hold my hand tightly as I told him the bad things and someone who could walk into the room and instantly know if I was upset.

His name was H, and he was my best friend.

He had this crazy sandy coloured hair that he refused to cut, and this smile that went on forever. In fact if I recall rightly, the day that he told me all the pain he was in, how he wanted to die, how life was just too hard for him? He had a smile on his face the whole time.

He used to read the lyrics I wrote, and he never laughed. He used to sit across from me every day, and we'd just talk, about everything and anything. He was my safe place.

But everything changed shortly after we entered high school.

I still remember the way he used to laugh. He always had a smile on his face, no matter what the occasion. He had the most amazing laugh too. It used to fill up the air around, and cheer up everyone who came into contact. He was always so happy, he was like the sun.

I remember the hours we spent together in empty music rooms, me attempting to play the guitar, while he simply sat and watched me, or laughed at my efforts to teach him. I remember sleeping with my head in his lap, asking him to wake me at the end of the hour. I remember sitting across a table from him, telling him the deepest obsessions that haunted my soul. I remember wondering why I was telling him everything, when people had already told me he couldn't be trusted. And I remember deciding to judge for myself, and not take for granted what people told me about him, and his lies.

But I can see the look on his face that particular Friday afternoon, more clearly than I see myself reflected in the mirror sometimes.

I can still see the look in his eyes, the quiet sort of desperation, while he tried to pass it off as a joke, as he told me he loved me. I can still remember the way he leaned in as though to kiss me, and then turned it into a casual motion out of fear. And then later still, I remember him shouting I should not be surprised somehow. That I had known all along it would come to this.

Ever since we met he had known I was gay, although he never told me he was. And we were friends –such good friends!

But I knew from the moment he told me the truth about his feelings, with the same unerring instinct that I let guide my every action, that he was not the one for me, nor I for him.

I case you haven't become aware of this yet, I am hardly the most subtle of people. But I wish more than anything else in the world, that I had reigned in my blunt honestly before I told him in no uncertain terms that I had absolutely no intention of being with him, and never would be.

Because that was the last time I ever saw H alive.

While I was sitting at home that night, trying to compose myself enough to call him and explain, he was slipping the noose around his neck.

I go over it in my head every night. How he must have looked, his pale freckled skin turned to blue, and his eyes dead and lifeless. How his mother must have screamed as she walked into his room and saw him dangling from the ceiling like some grotesque mannequin, and how she must have cried when they cut him down. I wonder if his skin was cold by the time they zipped him into the body bag, and I wonder if the tiny organisms that destroy and decompose, had already begun their work on his flesh by the time we lowered him into the ground. I wonder if his mother had known of his so-called love the whole time, and if that was why she blamed me.

I can still see her accusing stare at the funeral, announcing to the whole world how it was my fault. In my memory she hands me his note, and fixes me with her icy glare. "You killed him" it screams, and I know she's right.

I remember his note.

_**Gery, **_

_**I'm leaving now. It's finally over, and I have never been happier in my life. I just feel this darkness inside of me all the time, and while I was with you, it lifted. I thought maybe you could be the one who banished it for good. But you don't want to be though, do you? You don't want to be mine.**_

_**I realised today that all my dreams have turned to nothing. Every future I ever had, I imagined you in it. Always by my side, and together the world could have been ours. But I know now, that I was wrong. I don't blame you. But I don't forgive you either. I want to say 'be happy' but I just can't bring myself to.**_

_**At least I'm going somewhere you can't hurt me anymore. **_

_**-H**_

I have forever to remember how I betrayed him. How I as good as killed him.

I remember how I swore to never let anything like this happen again. How I prayed for another chance.

This was my chance. This wasn't H standing in front of me no, this was Frankie. I had no idea why he would want to die, and I have no idea why I feel this crazy magnetic pull towards him.

But I knew damn sure that no one else was dying on my watch!

/

As Frank looked at me, a trace of a blush coloured his hollow cheeks, and I saw horror and panic appear in his eyes, as he realised what he had said.

I did that. I made him afraid, and I didn't know how. But in that moment I knew it wasn't about me. This was about the strange distant boy in front of me, looking as though his world had just ended. He just kept looking at me, and the hopelessness was enough to bring tears to my eyes. Did he really think I was like all the rest, did he really think I would leave him?

Looking into his eyes, I could see the answer to that was 'yes'.

"Frankie..." I murmured, trying to get him to say something. He looked at me, then looked away wildly, as though searching for an escape. His tiny body was trembling, and I suddenly felt myself overcome with aching tenderness as I saw goosebumps erupt on his shaking arms.

Breaking eye contact with him reluctantly, I leaned down to where his baggy shirt lay in a crumpled heap on the tiles, and helped him back into it.

"th...thank you" he muttered, not looking at me. I saw his flushed cheeks, and wondered if he was embarrassed I'd seen his body. Or perhaps his scars.

To be honest though, it was the horrific lack of flesh on his body that shocked me the most. The scars that I could now see ran all the way up both arms to flow smoothly over his shoulders, and dwindled slightly as they came to his chest. Those I could deal with. My eyes flickered involuntarily to my own fabric-clad forearms, and I grinned ruefully. Yes, I had plenty of experience with extensive scarring.

But he was so skeletal! I had no experience with eating disorders or the like, but it didn't seem possible that he should still be alive after all he had done to himself.

Realising he was still staring at the floor, his white face obscured by his dark sheet of hair, I knew I had to do something. This was my only chance. Instinct told me that If I left it for now, Frank would be lost to me forever. That aside, we had been standing in a bathroom for the past fifteen minutes, and someone else was sure to come along soon.

Reaching out, I did the only thing that seemed possible for me to do. I took his cold shaking hand in mine, and I squeezed it gently. I heard his involuntary gasp, and I looked up to see him staring at me in shock.

"Come on" I said softly. "We need to move before my parents find us. And you have a few things you need to explain to me Frankie".

I was hardly expecting enthusiasm, but I had to admit I was disappointed by the way he simply turned to the door, allowing my hand to slip from his grasp. I flushed slightly. Christ what must he think of me? I hadn't even replied to anything he had said, and he'd told me he was gay and suicidal!

Suddenly filled with a determination to show him I cared, I followed him into my room, and waited for him to perch nervously on the edge of the bed twisting his hands fearfully, before I spoke again.

"Can I sit down Frank?" I asked, not wanting to invade his space. The look he gave me was pure, almost childish bewilderment.

"Oh...okay..." he said, then looked at me with an embarrassed and confused face. "I'm sorry...no one else ever asked".

It took me a moment to understand what he meant, then my gaze jumped to the bed, and understanding reached me at almost the exact moment that fury did. What had happened to Frankie?

I saw the fear in his eyes as he registered my rage, and pushed it aside so I could sit down with him. Looking at him, I knew I had to ask these questions. But I didn't want to hurt him. I looked at him, sitting on the edge of my bed, so small and fragile that he looked like the wind would break him in half. His beautiful dark eyes were obscured by the strands of his hair that hid his face –and, I was beginning to realise, his feelings.

So I was more shocked than anyone when he raised his head and began to speak.

"On the day I was born, my father killed himself" He said it so bluntly, so coldly, without any emotion whatsoever. I knew better than to interrupt though.

"From what mama told me, he was a very broken person. He was eighteen, and had just discovered the price one could end up paying for a bit of virgin pussy" I winced at the word. It sounded so coarse and wrong coming from his mouth.

"He grew up with an abusive father, and spent his entire life trying to take care of his mother and little sister. When he met mama, he was failing school, taking drugs, and cutting himself to ribbons. Mama should have known better, but she couldn't help it." His tone of voice was a mixture of scorn and agony, and I couldn't help myself. I slipped an arm around his thin shoulders. He made no response, but he didn't pull away. I took that as an encouraging sign.

His voice was shaking slightly now, as he continued. "Mama was only thirteen when she met him. She always said she feel head over heels for him, this dark mysterious senior who was everything she ever wanted. I didn't find out from her, but apparently from the moment they became a couple, her life began to go downhill" At this point I felt his iron composure beginning to slip, and a slight waver appeared in his voice.

"Two years later she was pregnant and he was stockpiling fucking razorblades"

Suddenly without warning, his voice broke with a moan, and he broke down completely, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs. He wrapped his arms around my neck, gasping for air as he fell apart in my arms. Instinctively, I pulled us further back onto the bed so we didn't fall. He was half lying in my lap at this point, as he buried his head in my shoulder, weeping like he would never stop. I just feel the pain radiating from him, and it was agony to know I couldn't help him.

Eventually his sobs turned to sniffles, and he looked up at me fearfully, as though he thought I would be angry with him. I reached out and gently tucked his hair behind his ear. "It's okay Frankie" I whispered.

He nodded, and then said shakily "do you mind if I tell you the rest another time? I don't even know you...I have no idea why I just told you that. I've never told anyone that." I could see the panic in his eyes, and I knew he thought I was going to reject him.

Wrapping my arms securely around his shoulders, I looked him straight in the eye "Frankie you don't have to tell me anything now. I know we only met yesterday, and I know how crazy it is that all this has happened when we don't even know each other. I know how hard it has to be for you to tell me anything. But Frankie, I want to get to know you. Do you think we can try and be...friends?"

He looked at me, like I'd said the last thing he was expecting. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he nodded slowly. "Yeah...friends sound...good. I've never really had a friend before..."

I smiled at him, suddenly jubilant. Frank wanted to be my friend! Then I had a sudden sobering thought. "Frank, can I ask you one more thing?" I said softly, not wanting to ruin this tiny thread of trust we had just created.

He nodded at me and smiled. "Yes Gee?" he asked and I had to smile at the nickname. No one but Mikey called me that.

"Is your mother...alive now?"

I saw the shutters some down instantly in his eyes, and I regretted ever asking the question."I'm sorry Frankie...I shouldn't have asked that. Forget it." He looked like he was going to argue, but then suddenly his face cleared. "No Gerard, it's okay. Mama...mama died when I was six"

"I'm sorry" I murmured, knowing how inconsequential my words were. No words could ever make up for the loss of not one, parent, but two. I didn't know how Frankie could have survived it; losing H had torn me apart enough. But then Frankie looked at me, and I was surprised to see a smile on his face, though a trace of tears glittered in his eyes.

"Honestly Gee, it's okay...well it's not, but I've had eleven years to cry for them"

I registered the use of the word 'them' but I also saw the sudden regret in his eyes, and I knew he hadn't meant to say that. I knew I'd asked more than enough from Frankie for one day, so I pretended I hadn't heard his slip. Instead I hugged him tightly for a moment, and then released him.

"I think mom wanted to take you shopping for clothes today as you didn't bring any" I said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Do you want to take shower, then you can borrow some of my clothes to wear today?"

Frank smiled, and then nodded, standing up. Then he winked at me. "Only If I can borrow your eyeliner too!" he grinned. Ignoring the shock that flashed through me as Frank made the first flippant comment I'd ever heard from him, I pulled a shirt and some jeans from my drawers, and tossed them in his direction. "Here sunshine, you can borrow my makeup when you get out the shower" I laughed.

Frank's only response was to poke his tongue out at me as he left the room.

I was in shock. Had I seriously just seen Frank make a joke? Have fun? Act like a normal teenager?

A smile spread over my face. I liked this side of him, and I got the feeling he hadn't had the opportunity to express it much. Pulling on my own clothes, I vowed to make Frank laugh at least once every day.

/

By three PM, I was the one not laughing. Shopping was hardly my forte –it was much more the territory of my younger sibling. And an entire day of being dragged around clothes shops and standing outside changing rooms? Not so much.

On the plus side, Frank in my black skinny jeans and a Black Flag shirt, with my eyeliner outlining his dark eyes, was so much better than those awful hospital pyjamas. Even though they were so big for him that I had to cut an extra hole into my studded belt to make the jeans stay up, it was a relief seeing him looking halfway human. But it had been sad watching mom trying to find clothes that would fit Frank. Everything hung so baggy on him, and mom was seriously contemplating taking him to the children's section, before I pointed out that skinny jeans were her best bet in finding something to fit him.

With my only useful contribution to the day made, I was sitting outside yet another clothing store doodling random passersby into my sketchpad, when I saw it. Across the street, maybe two shops down, was a music shop. A plethora of musical instruments graced its windows, and band t-shirts and posters adorned the background of the display. Curiosity coming over me, I stood, and was about to make my way over to take a better look at the posters, when I remembered something.

Franks face when he held my guitar that morning.

Instantly I dropped my sketchpad into my satchel, and raced into the clothing store, not caring about the weird looks I was getting. Besides, I was used to it. Mom and Frank stood by the checkout, mom with several armfuls of bags. She had a huge smile on her face though –Mom loved shopping, and I was hardly a willing victim for shopping trips.

Grabbing Frank by the hand, I pulled him out of the shop, quickly calling over my shoulder to tell mom where we were going. Frank pulled his hand loose as soon as we were free of the shop, and I felt that same flash of hurt again, that he didn't want to touch me. But that was instantly washed away as I saw the look on his face when he gazed up at the shop I had brought him to. The look of astonishment tugged at my heartstrings. It was like he never left the house.

A bell tinkled as we entered the shop, Frank stepping shyly over the threshold after me. The dreadlocked young woman behind the counter gave us a once over, and winked at me. I shot her a look telling her precisely what I thought of her action, and she gave a small shrug and a grin. "So can I help you guys?" she asked chirpily. I hoped I was imagining her double meaning, or the way her eyes lingered on my face. But as her gaze travelled up and down me, I had to assume not.

"We're looking for the guitars...?" I said, trying to convey in my tone that I was not interested. She laughed, and pointed us down one of the aisles.

"Try whatever you like" she called after us.

We walked past row after row of guitars. I had no idea what I was looking at, but Frank stopped suddenly in front of a sleek white Les Paul. Gazing at her longingly, he looked at me nervously as though asking permission to touch. I nodded encouragingly, and he pulled her off the wall hook, and into his arms.

There was a small stool a few feet away, and I pulled it closer, offering it to Frank. "Thanks" he said, sitting down.

Then he looked down at the guitar in his arms, and ran his hand slowly over the fretboard. He plucked the strings a little, and twisted the tuning pegs until he was happy. Pulling a pick from between the strings of the guitar, he gently slid his fingers over the strings, and then took a deep breath. He looked at me one last time, and I nodded at him. Then Frankie lowered his head to the guitar, and began to play.

And that was when the world stopped.

/

/

/

_**Christ that was long! I had a reviewer asking me to make my chapters longer, as I don't update all that regularly and I felt it was only fair. But hell that was tiring! **_

_**So what did we think of Frankie's revelations then? Anyone surprised? Anyone totally NOT surprised? XD **_

_**Here's something for you all….first person to guess who looked after Frankie for the years after his mother died, gets to have one of the main characters (who will shortly enter the story) named after them. Boy or girl, I can twist it to fit. Just leave me a review with your guess :)**_

'_**I remember when I tore you apart. How you lost your mind, as I lost your heart. Two halves of a corrupted whole, chained in body mind and soul.'**_

_**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**_


	12. Sing

**So here we are again. I feel I should post a warning to this chapter –indirect descriptions and references to rape and abuse, don't read if under 18, you all probably will anyway but you know the drill I gotta say it :p**

**Have fun with this one!**

/

/

FPOV

Fucking hell this was crazy.

I think the last 24 hours have been among the strangest I've had in my whole life –and I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing. Starting with the waking up in hospital, that sickening long wait for them to tell me my fate. Then to be dragged to the home of some awful family I don't want to know, only to wake up in a bed with no idea how I got there, and some guy in the bunk above me telling me it'll be okay. Then he starts freaking _singing_ to me, and what d'ya know? I go back to sleep. Then I wake up again, and suddenly this weird guy has a name and a family, and a mother who tries to make me _eat_, and when I try and purge all the dirty poison from my stomach, this same guy comes and sees me doing it!

But this is where it gets so weird I'm not quite sure I haven't imagined it. He-Gerard-doesn't scream and shout. He doesn't tell me how disgusting I am, and he doesn't even hit me. He tries to touch me, to comfort me. He talks to me, and helps me, and somehow manages to make me tell him something I haven't spoken about in eleven years! And now he's standing next to me looking at me hopefully, as I pretend to be absorbed in looking at this beautiful guitar I'm going to be allowed to play.

Why would someone like him even bother with someone like me? He's the most beautiful guy –all dark hair and mysterious eyes, and this sexy lean body. Why would he even talk to me? I'm just the little freak that no one loves, and why can't he understand that he's supposed to feel like everyone else does about me? He's supposed to hate me, for god's sake!

Tears well up in my eyes, reminding me of how he was also the first person to make me cry in all these long lonely years. I blink them back furiously, pretending to fiddle with the tuning pegs on the guitar.

It hurts to think it so straight up and real, that honestly and truly, completely and utterly, I wish I was dead.

Having my usual sick and suicidal thoughts was hardly the greatest idea in the world however, in the middle of a shop. I looked down at the guitar and gently ran my hand along the fret board, learning the feel of the mahogany under my fingers. Taking a deep breath, I slipped the pick from between the top two strings, and began a gentle finger picking melody. I was shocked at first, at the incredible sound coming from the guitar. Then I realized this was the first time in over a decade that I'd played with a guitar that was not only in tune, but actually had all its strings.

Suddenly excitement coursed through me. The battered and broken guitar I used to own was like a broken child's toy next to this incredible instrument. I began to pick a tune I used to know, feeling the strings vibrate under my fingers as I ran my hands up and down the fret board, keeping perfect time with the picking. I quickly morphed through the chord sequence into a breakdown, and then slowed until I was playing something entirely new. I didn't recognize the tune, but it sounded nice, so I kept playing gently. It left me with this nagging feeling in the back of my mind...like I'd heard it before or something. I was about to change the tune, but I heard a soft gasp beside me.

I nearly dropped the guitar in fright. I had completely forgotten Gerard was standing next to me, and I looked up at him quickly, frightened I'd done something wrong.

"Frank..." he said slowly. I dropped my gaze to the floor, and concentrated on picking apart patterns in the blue carpet with my eyes. "Where did you hear that song?" he asked. There was curiosity in his voice yes, but also a strange note of yearning I didn't understand. The room suddenly seemed colder, and I shivered in his baggy tee-shirt. "I...I don't know" I mumbled, looking down. "I guess I've heard it before somewhere, but I can't remember where..."

It was almost as though he had been expecting that reply, because he nodded softly, then said "I know. That's exactly how I felt when I heard it. It's so familiar...I feel like I should know it, so I was hoping you did". I shook my head.

"I think that's the first time I've ever played that"

"Play it again"

Dropping my head back to the guitar, I tried to remember the notes that had flowed so smoothly through my fingers. I was surprised when Gerard pulled up a stool next to me, a black Epiphone SG in his hands. He grinned at me ruefully. "I can't play much, but maybe I can help you here".

Gerard formed his fingers into a D chord, and began strumming gently. I didn't ask any questions, just began play the simple repeating riff I had played before. I kept it slow, watching how his fingers stumbled over the changes into a G, and then a Bm. It was beyond obvious that Gerard wasn't a natural guitarist, but I admired how it wasn't stopping him from trying. We kept playing the little intro over and over, blending chords and notes into one long stream of music. I had forgotten what it felt like to make music with someone. I had forgotten what an absolutely incredible feeling it was.

As we entered the same riff for the eighth time, Gerard stumbled over a note, and the chord jarred horribly. Instantly Gerard thrust the guitar back onto its stand, and sat there, eyes downcast, red staining his cheeks, trying to hide his face beneath his black hair.

"Gerard…what's wrong?" I asked. So what if he missed a note?

"It doesn't matter" he muttered, and looked away. Reaching out, I intended to tuck back the hair from his face so I could see his eyes. But as my fingertips grazed his cheekbone, his hand suddenly shot up to catch mine, and held it to his cheek. His eyes met mine, and I could see my own shock mirrored, but he made no move to let go. He opened his mouth to speak "Frankie I…" 

"Gerard! What the hell are you doing in a music shop?" A chirpy female voice called.

Gerard dropped my hand like it was red hot, and I felt my cheeks burn with shame. He obviously thought I was coming on to him –and no wonder he didn't want me to touch him! I turned to see a tall brunette girl of about our age striding towards us between the rows of guitars, with a grin plastered on her face. She came to a stop in front of us and planted her hands on her hips. "Well?" she demanded. "Oh and who's your friend?" she asked, with a wink at him.

"Alicia!" he exclaimed, and jumped up to embrace her. I ignored the suddenly twisting in my gut as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders as he turned to face me. "Alicia this is Frank….Frank, this is my friend Alicia". Alicia swept her gaze over me with a speculative look, then seemed to come to some form of conclusion, as she offered me a grin, and extended her hand.

I eyed it warily, wondering what she was doing. Her fingers were very pale, and she had a silver ring on her thumb. I noticed idly that her nails were chewed down almost as much as Gerard's. But why was she offering me her hand?

After a moment of awkward silence she shrugged and pulled it back "nice to meet you Frank" she said, but the note of warmth in her voice was gone. "Yeah, you too" I mumbled, trying to blink back tears. I think the catch in my voice gave me away though, as I saw Gerard look at me quickly.

"Anyway…I'm going to…go look at guitars I guess" I said quickly, and made my escape down a side aisle before they could protest. Not that they would have. What was wrong with me? What was I supposed to do? My cheeks were still hot from when Gerard had thrust my hand away from him, and the tears scalded as they fell from my eyes. I couldn't even try and be normal for one day!

"Frank!"

I turned to see Gerard catching up behind me, and as he approached, he grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around. "What was that?" he asked angrily. His eyes were furious and his grip on my shoulders was so tight it was painful. But his voice already seemed distant and fading….

/

"**Do you have any idea how pathetic you are?" he sneered at me, as he slammed me against the wall. I made no reply. My throat was clogged with blood, and my lips were split, so I couldn't have talked if I'd wanted to. **

"**You're ridiculous! No wonder no one wants you! You're so lucky we decided to take you in! Tell me what you are?"**

**I tried to speak, but the dried blood had effectively sealed my lips shut, and I couldn't choke out a word. He spat at me, and I flinched as the saliva ran down my face. I made no move to wipe it off though. I knew it would be far worse if I resisted.**

**He slapped me across the face, knocking me sideways with the force of the blow, and pain blossomed across my head. I tried to sink to the ground, but he pulled me upright and spun me around, slamming me face first into the wall. The pain was unbearable, and I felt my nose break with a crunch, as yet more blood flooded down my face. But I knew what this meant…worse was coming. **

**Grabbing my wrists in one hand, he held them roughly against the wall above my head. His free hand dropped to my hip, where he began to run his fingers over my hip-bone, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. Then he was slowly slipping them into the concave space between my hip and stomach, where my baggy jeans left an opening. "No…" I whispered before I could stop myself. Next thing his hand was gone, and a resounding **_**crack! **_**Rang out, as he slapped me across the face. "Shut up bitch" he growled warningly in my ear. "You're already so filthy I can hardly stand to touch you. I don't need to hear the bullshit that comes out your mouth too"**

"**Tell me how much you want me!" **

"**A…a lot!" I choked out, and his hand abruptly returned to caressing my hip. I clenched my eyes shut tight, pretending this wasn't happening. But after so many years, I knew better than to hope. He slipped his hand further down to stroke my unwillingly hardening cock and I flinched. What was wrong with me? Did this mean I **_**liked**_** what he did to me? It was my punishment, for being so bad. I shouldn't like it. I should….I should take my punishment for being bad.**

**I felt him tug at my jeans, and then felt them pool around my feet. But** **by the time I heard the sharp rasp of the zipper behind me, everything had become so crystal clear, that each sensation burned like a branding iron on my flesh. I could hear the little click as each tooth of the zipper came undone. I could hear his grunts in my ear, and smell his cheap aftershave. I remember that he didn't stop for hours, breaking me over and over again. I remember that the dark stain on the floor grew steadily wider, until I was so dizzy I could barely stand. And I remember the wonder, when I discovered there is a place inside you where you can go, and watch it all, as an outsider, without feeling any pain. **

**/**

Someone was calling my name. Very faintly, but it was definitely there. As I became more aware of sensations around me, I also became aware of a pounding just to the left of me. It was a steady _da-dum da-dum da-dum _and I took comfort from it. It was warm too. Not cold, like in my….Oh god!

My eyes snapped open, and I let out a little shriek, as I saw a massive shape leaning over me. Next thing, my eyes were adjusting slightly, and I realized I was looking at Gerard's worried face, as he leant over me. Oops.

"What happened?" I croaked, and shivered involuntarily. The feel of his hands on my flesh was still with me, making me feel dirty all over again. I was trying to piece together my recollections, and I looked past Gerard to see….racks of instruments…Oh! Realization came flooding back to me in one rush, and I turned bright red with shame. Had I honestly just had one of my flashbacks in the middle of a shop? Trying to remember what triggered it, I searched through my memories of the last few minutes, but everything was disconcertingly blank.

"Gerard..?" I asked, hating how weak my voice sounded. "What happened?"

"I'm so sorry Frank!" he cried, and I realized from the angle, that I was lying on the floor, half propped up and half pulled into his arms. The pounding next to me was the sound of his heart, racing from the shock I must have given him. "I tried to grab you, you ran off so suddenly…and then you just collapsed, and started shaking and hyperventilating. I couldn't make you hear me"

"Panic attack" said a voice matter-of-factly, and I turned to see the girl from before –Alicia- standing there watching us. There was something in her face that I couldn't identify….was it pity? But there was something else. An odd look almost, like she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

"I know Alicia" said Gerard, "Frank I'm so sorry –I can't believe I grabbed you like that, what was I thinking?"

"Gerard, it's okay" I rasped, wincing at the constant burn in my throat. I couldn't even speak anymore without reminders of how weak I was.

"No, it's not. I'm so sorry…" Then Gerard turned to Alicia, who was still regarding me with that same strange look. "What is it?"

"What's what?"

"Why are you staring at Frank like that?"

I flushed even deeper if that was possible, and curled my head into the crook of Gerard's elbow, so I didn't have to look at anyone. Apparently I wasn't the only one who'd noticed the weird looks I was getting.

"It's nothing" She said quickly. "Frank just looks…very familiar, that's all"

"I've never seen you before" I said quickly. It was true.

"All the same…" she murmured. Then she looked at us quickly. "Well Frank it was good to meet you, but I'm sure Gerard will want to get you home now, so I'm going to head off. Tell Mikey I'll drop round later, okay?" She directed the last part at Gerard, and then shot me a smile, spun in her combat boots, and walked out the shop.

Leaving Gerard and I in a very awkward situation.

"Frank, what happened? Was it because I grabbed you?" Gerard asked, not looking at me.

"I…I don't know. No one's tried to touch me apart from…._them_ in years. I think… my body instinctively responded to the threat your hand could potentially possess, which triggered a flashback, causing me to have a panic attack and collapse on you." I said, quoting Dr Simmons from months ago, when he was explaining to me anything that might potentially affect someone like me.

Anything, because I refused to speak, and therefore let him know what problems I had. Big fucking joke –I was nothing but a problem.

"Whoa…" said Gerard, a slightly stunned look on his face, which quickly turned to horror. "Wait…your saying me grabbing you made you have a flashback to things that have happened to you?"

Keeping my mind firmly looked in the present, I nodded quickly, and stood before he could respond.

"Let's go now Gerard" I said, and turned to leave before he could argue.

/

"Frank why didn't you shake Alicia's hand?" he asked me quietly. We were in the backseat of his mother's car, heading home. To my relief and surprise, Gerard hadn't told her about my panic attack when we met up with her, just mentioned that we'd been to a music shop, then helped her carry the bags to the car. I realized he was still waiting for a reply, but I couldn't help it. For the hundredth time today I went bright red with humiliation, and turned away.

"Frank?" he asked, taking my hand as if to comfort me. What I didn't expect was the jolt that shocked through me as he touched me. I pulled my hand back, but as I did so, I turned to look at him, and watched as he took in my burning cheeks and too-bright eyes.

"Frankie what was it?" he asked gently, lowering his voice so his mother couldn't hear over the sound of the radio. Looking away, I answered him so softly I could barely hear myself speak.

"So that's what she wanted"

"What

"For me to shake her hand"

"Well yeah…obviously"

"Oh" I muttered.

"So why didn't you?"

"I never learnt to shake people's hands. I didn't know that was what I was supposed to do…I hadn't left my old flat since I was six"

Furious tears sprang to my eyes as I realized how many things I'd lost. This world and I were never going to work out. I should just kill myself right now and forget waiting until I'm eighteen. Trying to function in this world was just too damn hard, plain and simple.

Did I really think they were going to come back just to tell me if he was alive? Besides, I'd seen all the newspaper clippings, hell I had them plastered all over my walls!

"Oh Frankie" Gerard said softly, and squeezed my hand giving me a shock, as I had forgotten he was holding it. "I'd hug you right now if mom wasn't sitting just in front of us" he murmured. I looked at him with a question in my eyes.

"I don't want her to get the wrong idea about us"

I still didn't get it.

Suddenly comprehension dawned in his eyes, and he groaned, looking away. "I'm sorry Frank, this is going to sound really harsh…but you don't seem like the 'in the closet' type, and mom and dad….well they're not the most open minded about gay people"

Swallowing, I kept my eyes forward as I nodded, trying not to show any emotion. It was bad enough that I was the self-harming, bulimic, abandoned orphan freak. Now I was the closet fag as well? Was Gerard asking me to lie to his parents, after all they had done for me? Lost in my thoughts, the rest of the journey slid by without notice.

/

"Frank what's wrong?" Gerard shouted, standing in front of me in his tiny room, hands on his hips.

It had taken him until we got back t his room to notice I wasn't speaking. I couldn't, I was just too afraid to ask the questions I didn't want to hear answers to. He said his parents weren't open minded about gay people…did that mean he wasn't either? Was he secretly disgusted by me?

After we got home I had gone straight back to Gerard's room, the only thing vaguely resembling a safe place here. I crawled onto the narrow bottom bunk, and curled up into the corner, waiting for him to come through. Wrapping the enormous duvet around my shoulders, I huddled into the corner. The day had been so long, and I was so tired…I hated having to try and think like a person; my mind worked better on autopilot. Although that wasn't necessarily true….I remembered Dr Simmons's nightly visits. They were the only thing that had kept me going, all the way through the long cold nights when _they _left me.

Then it struck me; _Dr Simmons. _What would he think now I wasn't there to listen to his voice every night? Would he still talk to the blank wall? Would he think I was just on the other side, too afraid to answer him? What would he say? I hadn't realized until now, that I missed him. Missed the way he used to talk to me. And worst of all, I never got the courage to ask him about the photograph….

My thoughts came to an abrupt halt as Gerard stalked into the room, tossing a pile of shopping bags on the floor. I poked my head out from the blanket fearfully, trying to huddle further into the corner. He was angry, but I could see him trying to suppress it, mindful of everything that had happened. I sighed. I hadn't stayed alive these past 24 hours to have people treat me like I was made of glass. But I wasn't going to say anything.

I watched him pull clothes haphazardly from the bags and stuff them in his drawers, but I didn't speak. I watched him line up every pencil on his desk in order of color, and I watched him even make his bed. Finally he turned to me. "Okay what's up?"

I didn't answer, but I could feel the beginnings of shivers trembling up and down my spine at his tone. Why did he have to be angry at me? He was still talking, but there was a dull roar behind my ears that stopped me from hearing anything, and I began to shake my head reflexively. No….no…no…no

I hadn't realized I was saying anything until he leaned down in front of me. "No what Frank?" he asked pleadingly. "Please talk to me…"

As I continued not to answer, he got more and more frustrated, finally springing to his feet and pacing the floor in front of me. "What's wrong Frank?" he finally exploded. "Just talk to me, please!"

As the words left his lips I instantly saw the regret, followed by the fear I would have another attack. Grabbing my hands, he looked into my eyes. But I couldn't see him anymore, I couldn't hear him….I was falling, falling….

Focusing my gaze on his, he started speaking slowly and calmly. "Just keep looking at me Frank. That's right, focus on what I'm saying. Just watch my lips moving, stay with me now, just stay with me." Blinking my eyes, I tried to do as he said. The dark that was swirling around the edges of my vision seemed to recede a little, and I shook my head experimentally.

Gerard was looking at me, and I was still staring at him. I could see every angle of him now, every plane on his beautiful face. He was still holding both my hands, and kneeling in front of me. His talking slowly stopped, but he continued staring into my eyes. I for one couldn't have torn myself away even if I were presented with a neat set of razorblades on the spot.

I opened my mouth, to say what I did not know. When suddenly–

"Boys! Dinner!"

Gerard's mother bustled into the room, and Gerard pulled away from me like he'd been shot. Avoiding my glance, he stood up quickly. "Coming Frank?" he asked. I knew it wasn't really a question, so I nodded, stood, and followed him slowly up the stairs, my head spinning more with every step.

**/**

**/**

**/**

**So how did you all find that? Many brownie points to the person who correctly guessed who looked after Frankie! I'd post their name here, but that would mean you can all go find their review, and figure it out before I want you to :p**

'**After all these years, one thing is true. The constant voice inside my heart is you'**

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	13. The Sharpest Lives

_**So shoot me. Okay I'm sorry its taken this long, I really am. A levels, my band and my (now ex) girlfriend swallowed me up, and I couldn't think straight let alone write. But its here now, and I promise no more long gaps! Aiming to update every two weeks now :) so without further ado...here we have it! **_

_**This chapter is dedicated to my Gee. Not because it bears any relevance whatsoever, but simply because she is my Gee, and no matter how angry she may be at me...I love her.**_

GPOV

What a rollercoaster.

I wasn't entirely sure what to think about the events of the day, in all honesty. Frank had gone to bed an hour ago, after half-heartedly pushing food around his plate for five minutes before my mother took pity on him and let him go. I wanted to check up on him, but we were trying to give him some privacy.

And besides, I needed to order my thoughts too. I had only known Frank for a day and a half, but already my feelings for him were threatening to overflow. Just the little things, like the shadows that passed behind his eyes when he was left alone with his own thoughts for a while, and the achingly painful way he struggled to walk. It took all my self-control not to offer to carry him wherever I could.

But then every so often I saw little flashes of what could have been. Of the person Frankie would be now if his life hadn't gone so horribly wrong. I treasured those moments, the occasional joke or smile he gifted me with. They were the only thing he had left of himself, and I longed to draw them out of him more.

But it was Sunday night and tomorrow all hell was going to break loose, when Frank had to begin attending our local high school again. I was afraid for him, he wasn't strong enough to deal with the rest of the world yet...but he had to.

But I had other things on my mind too. My application for Art College was due in a few weeks time...and my work still wasn't good enough. It was still missing something; something important...it was just so two dimensional. There was nothing in it to grab you, arrest you, and force you to look at it. Some people say art is about interpretation of the world...but I think art is really just all about the human spirit, and how it feels. But there were still no feelings in this work.

As I sat cross legged in our soft armchair, my sketchpad on my lap, I stared out of the window into the night. My headphones in my ears, I listened to the same songs over and over...

"_You are my mirror image, who I used to be_

_The lost and the broken, just like me_

_All these moments locked forever in this pain_

_All these nights when I wake up, screaming your name_

"_The look in your stained eyes as I tore us apart_

_How you lost your mind just as I lost your heart_

_Two halves of a corrupted whole_

_Chained in body, mind and soul"_

Here...here I was safe.

My parents had gone out for a prearranged dinner party for the evening that they couldn't cancel. I knew it worried them to leave Frankie without supervision so soon after his arrival, and they were making me promise to look after Frank and Mikey even as they walked out the door.

As soon as they were gone Mikey had disappeared up to his room, and Alicia arrived shortly after. I was trying not to imagine what was going on there...Christ Mikey was only fourteen. Usually I would have sloped straight down to the basement, and drowned my thoughts in cigarettes, drawing and razorblades. But with Frankie already asleep from the exhaustion of the day, I had little choice. I turned all the lights out in the living room except a single lamp to draw by, and I left the curtains drawn back to see the stars out the open window, as I curled in the armchair. It was peaceful, and with my music playing I was finally beginning to slow my mind a little. I gazed, mesmerised as my pencil swirled across the page, drawing lines and shadows, creating worlds from nothing. It was so quiet and silent; I didn't even hear the footsteps behind me, until a small hand gently touched my shoulder.

I can't lie; I nearly jumped out of my skin. The hand withdrew instantly, and as I turned around to see Frankie, standing with his head bowed, intently examining the floor. "I woke up" he murmured in his child's voice. "I didn't know where I was...I forgot". He kept his eyes downcast, as if afraid to look at me. The light from the lamp highlighted the shadows in his face, making the hollows of his cheeks and eyes stand out, and paling his skin. He looked like a ghost, a little wraith come to haunt me. I couldn't think of what to say...he just stood there, so lost, and I didn't know what to do...and then it came to me.

The moment. The ohmygod moment. My heart was hammering as I looked at him and the flush that rose to my cheeks felt like fire as I contemplated the question...and what this could mean for me...and for my art.

"Can I draw you Frank?" I asked, gesturing to the sketchpad on my lap. He looked up at me, surprise written across his face. "Me?" he squeaked, looking shocked. "Why would you want to...I mean, you want to draw me?" I didn't answer, but reached out and took his small hand, trying to ignore the shock that went through me as my skin touched his. Tugging him to sit opposite me, I carefully angled the light onto his features. Chewing my pencil for a moment as I studied him, I slowly began to draw.

The evening passed slowly. Frank was a good model; he barely moved an inch and I took the time to leisurely sketch every angle of him. Crosshatching across his jaw line, I began to shade up his hollow cheeks. Shadowing the planes of his face and the harsh angles of his cheekbones, made me wince, and he looked at me questioningly. "Frankie why do you...I mean, why..." I couldn't finish the sentence, but he understood, and looked away awkwardly.

"I don't deserve to eat...I don't deserve to feel full. It's wrong..." he whispered. The light in the room seemed to dim a little, and I looked at him sadly. What could I possibly say that would make his alright? I just wanted to help him...whatever it took. Pulling my sketchpad back towards me I began drawing him again, sketching in the deep hollows of his eye sockets, then his enormous dark eyes , the flecks of light where the lamp reflected in them. As I drew the final line, I held it away to look more closely. The final image was haunting. Frank's steady gaze was ageless, and filled with the sorrow of a much older person, the things he had seen and done I could barely begin to imagine. Without a word, I reached towards him and took his cold, limp hand.

He shuddered, as I gently traced my fingers across the fine web of veins on his wrist, the protruding scars smoothing under my fingertips. I spoke no more that evening, but simply stroked the inside of his wrist, as the hours passed us by. We were locked inside this, inside the tiny bubble of the lamplight, protecting us from the dark. Frankie never opened his eyes, but sighing softly; he leaned his head against the arm of the chair and closed his eyes. I smiled, and carefully disentangled my fingers from his, as, with a vague murmur of protest, Frankie fell asleep.

Stepping quietly around him, I headed downstairs to put my new sketch in my portfolio. But as I reached my bedroom door I hesitated; a vague memory was struggling at the back of my mind, and I racked my brains as to what it was. Unrolling my new drawing, I took another look. Then another, my eyes widening in disbelief. Next thing I was scrabbling through piles of sketchpads trying to find it, it had to be somewhere...

And there it was, rolled in a corner, already forgotten amongst the hundreds of sketches scattered throughout my room. The drawing I had done the night before Frankie arrived...before I had even heard his name...or even dreamed of his existence.

And it was him.

Indisputably, absolutely him. A boy with a guitar sat on the lip of a cliff, in the middle of the night. He looked about my age, but his head was hanging down over the guitar, so his face was indecipherable. His hair was about the length of mine, and hung in dark strands over his face. But I was looking now at the sharp angle of his thin shoulders beneath the black shirt. At the fearful, almost reverent way he was cradling the guitar, and at his spindly fingers, nervously spread across the fretboard.

I had drawn Frankie that night, without having ever set eyes on him in my life.

I contemplated whether to wake him and show him my discovery, but then I remembered the peaceful way he had fallen asleep, and the way the harsh lines of fear in his face smoothed into nothing as he dreamed. I couldn't shatter that peace, not for anything. Putting both drawings away, I left the room exactly as I had found it, and slowly climbed the stairs again. First thing in the morning, we had school, so I needed some sleep. I had to be firing on all cylinders if I wanted to get him through the day... I wasn't going to lie; I was utterly terrified for Frankie. In that place, they would rip him apart.

/

We walked side by side, in silence. The morning was cool and still, and it was early enough that the sun had barely time to peer over the edge of the horizon. We moved along the concrete pavements of suburbia, past house after house. No one else was around, and the quiet was almost unnerving. Frankie had said barely a word since we woke up. It probably didn't help that somehow, while sketching him sleeping, I had fallen asleep, and we woke to find him in my arms. Not that I was complaining...but I think he was worried.

After dressing quickly in ripped up red skinnies and, I had grabbed some cash, and pulled Frankie out the house. I wasn't going to subject him to another breakfast with my mother. Besides, I had an ulterior motive: that he would be more likely to eat if there were enough people around to make refusing awkward. Stealing a glance sideway at him next to me, I sighed. Even his new skinnies were too big for him, and hung off his hips, and his skinny torso looked like it was drowning in the baggy band t-shirt he had borrowed from me.

As we rounded the last corner, Frank looked up warily. He hadn't asked where we were going, and I hadn't volunteered it. But there was no way he could mistake my intentions as I pulled him into Starbucks and pushed him into a chair, with my hands on his shoulders. "Breakfast Frankie" I said gently, trying not to see the betrayal flash across his face.

"No" he said vehemently, shaking his head. "No".

It was the most certain thing I'd heard him say since he arrived, but I chose to ignore it, and bought us both coffees and muffins, before sitting across the narrow table from him. It was barely 7am, but there was already a steady stream of people pouring in and out of the shop. They shot us odd looks, which I suppose was to be expected. Two teenage boys wearing skinnies, band t-shirts and eyeliner, sitting in a coffee shop at this time in the morning wasn't exactly a common sight in Belleville, New Jersey.

Hoping to make Frank more comfortable, I didn't watch him as I slowly sipped my coffee. I pulled my sketchpad out of my messenger bag and began idly outlining the shapes of people coming in and out, until I had a whole page filled with blurring indistinct figures. When I looked up nearly an hour later, Frank was sitting in front of a stone cold cup of coffee and untouched muffin. Sighing, I sat back in the chair and folded my arms. I didn't want to force him...but the day was going to be emotionally and physically exhausting for him, and he needed some food at the very least.

His eyes met mine, and we locked in a brief battle of wills, before he just crumpled in his chair right in front of me. His shoulders slumped forwards, and he began to pick apart the muffin with long pale fingers. Raising a tiny morsel to his mouth, he peeked up at me through his fringe, and seeing me watching, parted his lips, and placed it in his mouth. Chewing quickly, he grimaced and swallowed, looking disgusted. I kept watching pointedly, and he shot me a hurt look, before delicately placing another piece in his mouth, then another, until half the muffin was gone.

Success.

I felt slightly guilty at the discomfort and guilt written all over his face, but relieved nontheless. "Are you okay Frank?" I asked gently. "I...yeah I guess" he muttered.

Ignoring the world around us, the people coming and going, and the curious stare of the blonde server, I reached out and took his hand gently. The movement still sent shivers up my spine as his skin touched mine, but I pushed that to the back of my mind. "Frankie I'm sorry...but you need to eat something" I murmured. He shrugged and looked away, but I caught his gaze again.

"Frank this wasn't the only reason I brought you here. When was the last time you went to school?"

He looked confused for a moment, and then shrugged.  
>"I have no idea. A few years ago maybe? I never went for long anyway, not at any of them."<p>

"You changed schools a lot?"

"Every few months"

"Why?"

He shrugged again. "Rio didn't like staying in any one place for too long."

"Who?"

Frank sighed softly, and looked into his lap. His face was perfectly blank, but his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white, and there were bright red half-moon curves across his palms where his nails had been digging in.

"She's who I lived with after...after Mama died. Even though she always hated Mama...even when she was a little girl she hated her"

I was incredibly confused. "When she was a little girl? Who is she?" I asked.

"Rio was my father's little sister. After Mama died, there was nowhere else for me to go."

"Couldn't your grandparents have taken you in?" I asked, confusedly, running through dates in my mind. They would have only been in their early fifties by this point surely...

"No. They died too." Said Frank flatly, then stood up sharply, scraping the chair legs against the floor. "Can we go now?"

I had gotten completely off track from my original point, but I agreed, and left. As we walked the last couple of blocks to school, I spoke again. "Frank...today might be hard. I don't know what experiences you've had in schools before, but this isn't going to be pretty. The place is full of bastards who want to break everyone who's different...and you need to be careful."

Frank didn't say anything, but kept his head down, and stumbled along next to me. I didn't mention to him that the fact that he was with me would make it a whole lot worse for him. The jocks saw my scars and cuts every day in the changing rooms, and everyone knew I was gay. So I was the suicidal faggot and if Frank spent too much time with me he'd get tarred with the same brush. Yet if I left him alone, they'd eat him alive.

As we turned the last corner, a trickle of teens began to appear, heading for the faded red double doors that marked the entrance. Frank began to slow beside me, falling behind. When I looked at him, he was shaking, his face even whiter than usual. No one had spoken to us yet, but we were getting curious looks that was for sure. Franks eyes darted wildly from me to the other students, the fear in them barely masked. I was fighting the internal battle as to whether or not to take his hand. I was desperate to show him he wasn't alone, and give him some kind of comfort...but I also knew what happened to people who spent time with me not to mention touched me.

My internal debate abruptly ended as I felt tentative fingers brush against mine. They pulled away just as fast, and I looked sideways to see Frank blushing furiously, and looking horrified with himself, as far as I could see beneath his dark mass of hair falling over his face. Ignoring every single eye on us, I stretched my hand across the gap, and linked my pinkie with his. His cold dry hands were really nothing but bones covered with skin, and mine dwarfed his, as I tried not to crush his fingers. We were nearly at the door, and the whispers were getting louder. Not to mention the stares and I knew Frankie wasn't as oblivious as he acted.

I had absolutely no idea where Mikey was. He was supposed to be meeting us here with Alicia, but there wasn't a sign of him. We climbed the steps together, and I led the way through the double doors to the main office. Beside me, Frankie took a deep breath, as I stepped up to the desk, chewing on my lip ring.

"I'm here to register Frank Iero" I muttered, and waited for all hell to break loose.

_**So am I forgiven please? *looks hopeful***_

_**Like I said, will never be this long again, I promise! XD**_

"_**Of all the things you took from me...I miss my mind the most"**_

_**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**_


	14. House of Wolves

_**As promised, two weeks later here is your update! (After all, what else are A level history lessons for except sitting at the back with my laptop and writing this) **_

_**This chapter is also for my Gee. Because even though she's leaving and even though she won't keep her promise, and she won't wait for me, and she will forget me...I will never forget her. And I will always wait for her. **_

_**And because she kissed me.**_

/

FPOV

Dr Simmons had talked about school a lot.

Well actually he complained about school a lot.

He said it was blight on the earth, and if he had the choice his daughter would never have attended. He said that the education system was designed to rip out the minds of the young, fill them with useless information, break their spirits by locking them in a building with the rest of their kind for six hours a day and ordering them to override the primitive instinct to fight, through threat and propaganda blackmail through the media and drip-feed them a diet of lies and bullshit that implied they would never survive in the world if they couldn't survive high school.

Those were his exact words. He didn't even take a breath!

I didn't understand it all at the time...but as I stood nervously next to Gerard, keeping my eyes strictly trained on the shiny linoleum floor...I was starting to understand exactly what he had meant. The office was small, but painted white and spotlessly clean. It reminded me of a doctor's office, and I cringed habitually. Standing these in my new still uncomfortable clothes and beat up converse...to say I felt in way over my head was an understatement. I was the outsider here. I was the freak, the new kid, and I most definitely did not belong.

The pretty blonde receptionist shot me a look that stated she agreed only too plainly with my mental assessment of myself, then her eyes slid back to Gerard as he stepped up to the desk. "Hi, I'm here to register Frank Iero" he muttered to her, and motioned me forwards. My palms sweating, I walked slowly forwards until I was in front of her, and then looked up at her.

Her expression had not been kind, but to my surprise her voice was. "Mr. Iero, how old are you?" She asked, looking at me with something akin to pity in her eyes, as she looked me up and down. "Ah...Um...I.." I stuttered, trying to get the words out. The heat rose in my cheeks as the words stuck in my throat, and I felt the beginning of tears prickling behind my eyes. Then I felt a soft hand on my back, and Gerard stepped beside me. "Frank is seventeen" he said calmly. "And if you have any paperwork to fill out, I'll take care of it. Frank is currently under the guardianship of my parents". This must have meant something to the woman, as she nodded, and passed him several sheets of paper. "Take these home to your parents then Mr Way" She said. "And for today, I'll put him in your classes. Just take this slip with you and get it signed by each teacher".

Without further ado, Gerard took the piece of paper and steered me out of the office into a narrow corridor. The squeak of our shoes on the floor made me wince, as we walked in silence. I wanted desperately to take his hand again...but I knew he had only been being kind to me earlier, and I didn't want to disgust him anymore that I probably already had. He was so beautiful and so strong...he didn't need someone broken like me hanging onto him all the time. Even earlier, when h told me about how hard school could be...I knew the truth. He just didn't want me with him, and I couldn't blame him. No one should want to be with me, ever.

We paused outside a classroom door, and Gerard looked at me with a tight smile. "This is my homeroom" he said, and opened the door to me, gesturing for me to go inside. It took every ounce of courage I possessed to step through that doorway. Only the knowledge that Gerard was behind me could have persuaded me to do it. Stumbling into the room, I didn't look up. I couldn't bear to see the faces, the expectancy, quickly followed by the hate and disgust. They were unknown yes. But like Dr. Simmons had said...they were all the same. And they would all hate me.

And then Gerard was behind me again, his hand gently on my elbow. Not imposing, not pushing, just a presence. I hadn't noticed the teacher before, but as Gerard spoke quickly and quietly to him, I took in his short stature and bald head, and the intent way he looked at Gerard. Childish maybe, but I took an instant dislike to him, and instead turned my attention to the room. It was apparently a biology classroom, as cross-sections of organs and labelled diagrams filled the walls. They disgusted me, but they were better than looking at the class. I had been very successfully ignoring the rising volume of the whispers behind me...but as Gerard finished the short conversation and turned to me again, I had no choice.

Taking a deep breath, I looked up at them. Row after row, filled with them. People. Teenagers. Others, just like me. And they were all looking directly at me. Holding in the breath that threatened to explode from my lungs, I followed Gerard to two desks at the very back of the room, and slid gratefully into the chair beside him, hiding my face behind my mess of hair. Gerard's mother had made noises about getting it cut just the other day, but I wasn't letting anyone touch it. No one was going near me with a pair of blades.

In front of us, a pair of blonde girls giggled quietly behind their hands, before turning around to us, their eyes narrowed. "So Gerard, who's your new friend?" one of them asked, while the other laughed and flipped her hair. I didn't know what it was about her, but I didn't like the way she laughed. It had an edge to it that didn't feel right. Gerard ignored them both, and pulled out the small sketchpad he took everywhere. He began doodling lightly on the page, humming softly under his breath until they turned back to the front.

"Are you okay?" he whispered to me softly, tracing patterns across the page. "Y-y-yes" I stuttered back. He nodded, and then taking my breath away, leaned over and squeezed my hand briefly, before returning to his sketching.

When the bell rang, the rumble of hundreds of chairs being scraped back across the school startled me and I flinched. Gerard stood beside me, and waited patiently until I got to my feet. The rest of the class was still staring at us as they left, but I didn't look back. I heard a few muttered comments about emo fags too. But again, that was nothing new.

I was just starting to hope this day might possibly not be as horrendously awful as I had predicted when we walked out the door and Gerard stopped short, making me almost walk into him. Four guys stood in front of us. They were all taller, bigger, and a hell of a lot more intimidating than us. Oh not to mention they didn't look happy.

Fuck.

"Well look what we have here" sneered the blonde jock that stood in front, shoving a finger into Gerard's chest. "Faggy-boy found himself a new boyfriend". The other three laughed eagerly, and moved closer so we were pinned in a semi-circle against the wall. I didn't know what to do, and I could feel myself starting to shake. I looked sideways at Gerard for help, but he was texting something on his phone and not looking at me. A slightly shorter, stockier guy to the right of me took a step closer, and pushed his face closer to mine. "Does the new fag have a name?" he rasped into my face, his eyes narrowing. I could feel all my muscles beginning to turn to jelly, and the edges of my vision were turning back. He was going to hurt me, I could see it. I couldn't take it, no not again. He couldn't do this to me...

Suddenly with a snap, Gerard flicked his phone closed and stepped in front of me. "Back off Justin" He snarled into the face of the shorter jock, who recoiled in shock as Gerard spoke to him. I tried to keep watching but my vision was still spinning, and I groped blindly for the wall. They were still looking at me...all of them...they were going to hurt me and I couldn't stop them...Gerard was saying something but I couldn't make it out. Then I felt his strong arm around my waist, keeping me on my feet as I swayed.

"Gee!" someone shouted, and the jocks scattered in front of me. People were still streaming past us in the corridor but no one so much as batted an eyelid. Apparently this was a regular sight here. Gerard kept his arm around me, as another girl stepped in front of us, and grabbed my hand. She looked vaguely familiar...then I recognised her as the girl from the music shop...Alicia. That was it.

"Gerard what were you thinking?" she exclaimed, her spare hand on her hip.

"I was thinking that maybe you and Mikey should have been there this morning to help!"

"We tried to be there Gee, but Mikey had to talk to your parents...which you would have known if you had stayed around that long. They're not happy you and Frank took off you know. Actually they were panicking about it, Mikey and I had to promise to find you both as soon as we got here" Alicia said, shooting a look over her shoulder as Mikey hurried up to us. Since I arrived in the house Mikey hadn't spoken to me all that much, but as he shot a look at me I got the distinct impression he didn't like me. Well, no surprises there. Why would anyone? Then he slung his arm around Alicia's waist, and suddenly several things fell into place. _Oh! _Mikey was with Alicia! Then I looked at Gerard again, but before I could formulate my thoughts at all, he spoke again.

"Well obviously, we're fine. You can tell mum_ and dad_ that. Now we need to get to class."

As he tried to turn, Alicia grabbed his arm and spun him around. "Gee we need to talk" She said firmly, but warningly, with a sideways look at me.

"No we don't" he said, wrenching his arm away.

"Gerard! Don't make me shout it out!"

"There's nothing to say!"

"Oh yeah? So you think after everything, I have no right to give you any advice?"

"Pretty much Alicia, yeah."

"Well I wasn't gonna say it here but you haven't given me a choice Gerard!" Alicia cried. "What about H, you remember?"

Gerard went absolutely white, and turned slowly to face her. "You just crossed the line Alicia..." he hissed warningly.

"Well if you think me and Mikey are just gonna sit back and let that happen to you aga-"

With that he grabbed my arm and began to walk briskly down the hallway, not looking back. I could hear Alicia trying to call something after us, but Gerard was walking to fast too make it out. I could feel the anger emanating from him and it confused me. What was wrong? It must have been my fault...if I hadn't turned up none of this would have happened. I think I have rarely hated myself more than I did in that moment and the shame rushed through me at what a mess I was already dragging Gerard into.

As soon as we got into the next class, Gerard took a seat at the very back of the room, and I tentatively sat next to him. He made no effort to pay attention throughout the class, but continued moodily sketching next to me, his head down. I didn't know what to say, and I wished the ground would just swallow me up as he ignored me. I kept stealing glances at him, but he didn't look at m e. I was feeling nauseous now, and my hand was spinning. I could feel every bite of the muffin this morning churning in my stomach, and it was taking all my self control not to vomit over the desk. My hands were shaking, god I was such a mess. What had I done?

"Gerard?" I asked nervously, half way through the lesson when general noise made it impossible for us to be overheard.

"Yes?"

"Are...are you okay?"

"No." He said shortly.

"I'm sorry"

At this he turned to look at me, surprise widening his eyes. "What? You haven't done anything!"

"I...I thought...you seemed so angry..."

"So?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I caused that"

"No Frankie that wasn't you, that was Alicia" he said looking embarrassed now. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...I'm sorry Frank, it's a long story. But you haven't done anything!"

Relief flooded me, and I tried not to let it show too much on my face. He didn't hate me after all! Or maybe he did...but then why wouldn't he? I didn't know what to think now. I wish the ground would just swallow me up; this was just too much to deal with in my mind. Surreptitiously dropping my hands into my lap, I stroked my hand over my wrist, feeling the scabbed cuts that still remained. Pushing my nails into them, I began to scratch at the cuts harder, digging my fingertips into the wounds until I felt warm sticky blood begin to flow again –then stopped. The unbearable relief that flooded me was both painful and undeniable, but I was in the middle of a classroom! Oh god I didn't know what to do. Pulling my sleeve down I buried my head in my arms, and waited for the nightmare to end.

When the bell rang Gerard turned to me, contrition written all over his face. "Frank I'm sorry about this morning" He said, stumbling over his words. "Alicia was talking about something that she should know better than to mention...and I didn't mean to get so angry. I'm sorry."

"Ah...it's okay?" I said, trying not to look too confused. I wasn't used to people apologising to me, and I wasn't really sure how to respond. Besides, my wrist was throbbing like a bitch, and I still felt sick and shaky from the food I had eaten. But Gerard looked so forlorn, sitting at the wooden desk with his head propped on one hand, his dark hair falling into his face. We were the only ones left in the room, and I could hear voices down the corridor, calling o each other. I was afraid to go out there again.

"Frankie we have a free hour now" Gerard said. "I usually go to music and draw there...but they have guitars, if you wanted to try? Besides...I need to talk to Alicia, and that's where her and Mikey will be."

I just nodded. I didn't particularly care what we did, as long as I didn't have to talk anymore. My throat was burning from all the speaking I had been doing today and I could taste the bitter iron flavour at the back of my throat that suggested it was bleeding again.

/

I could hear Alicia and Gerard arguing in the next room, but I couldn't make out their words. They sounded angry, and I couldn't help flinching every time one of their words punctuated the air like bullets. Mikey was ignoring them, so I tried to do the same.

When we arrived in the tiny music rooms, Gerard had passed me over to Mikey and told him to show me around. The look Mikey shot me left me in no doubt of what I'd previously sensed –Mikey didn't like me. However he showed me where the guitars were, then grabbed a bass and plugged in next to me. Surprise was enough to make me speak. "You play the bass?" I asked.

The first hint of a smile I'd seen all day graced his face as he looked down at his instrument, flicking his flat-ironed hair out of his eyes self consciously. "Err yeah, kinda" he mumbled bashfully. Pulling a guitar from the wall I played a few notes, checking it was in tune before I began playing a simple melody. Mikey hummed in tune beside me, before playing his own thing. I had never really understood why people would choose to play the bass, I had to admit. Weren't they just like guitars, but not as good? I was far too intimidated by Mikey to bring this up however.

We played our own thing for a while, as I practiced the songs I had learnt from memory, the songs that Dr Simmons had played through the door to me, and I had eventually worked out on my battered and broken acoustic. After a while I felt the melody begin to change, my fingers sliding up to a new position on the fretboard. Then I recognised it, it was the song that Gerard had commented on at the guitar shop! The song that sounded so familiar...and I didn't know why. Mikey beside me turned to look at me, and I recognised the expression on his face as almost identical to the one Gerard had worn.

"Frankie...what is that song?" he asked, looking confused. "Its like, well it's like I've heard it before but I swear I haven't."

I shook my head at him, indicating I had no idea and continued playing the note that were swirling through my head. Beside me Mikey picked up his bass again, and began working a line through the notes I had played, occasionally correcting himself as he improvised the bass line. We looked at each other as we played, and I smiled, for the first time all day. When we were playing this song...it didn't matter than my arms were shaking with the effort it took to keep my fingers on the fretboard as my muscles protested weakly. It didn't matter that my head was spinning and my vision was blurring, or the pain in my wrists from myself inflicted wounds. All that mattered was the blood racing through my veins, my heart beating in time to the music we played, my hands running instinctively over the fretboard and across the strings as we played. Mikey's eyes met mine, as amazed and bewildered as I was as we played by instinct more than anything.

Suddenly with a crash, the door beside us banged open and the music came to a screeching stop, as I flinched backwards barely stopping the guitar tumbling from my arms. My eyes filled with tears and I tried in vain to stop myself shaking, as Gerard stalked through the door. I hated this! Why couldn't I just be normal? A door banging wasn't going to hurt me...but my muscles were still spasming as I tried to surreptitiously wipe the tears from my face.

Gerard walked to the other side of the classroom as Alicia followed silently through the door to s stand next to Mikey, running her hands across his shoulders. The awkward atmosphere in the room was unbelievable. I hadn't been around people for many years now, but even I could tell you that. Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to speak, but no one said a word, and eventually Alicia touched Mikey on the shoulder, and they left.

Leaving me alone with Gerard and the murderous look on his face.

_**/**_

_**Thoughts? Opinions? Death threats and the like? **_

_**Thanks to my Gee, I have followed her example in rediscovering my love for Alice Cooper. Just finished a band practice where we all spontaneously played Poison, and sang along rather badly I must admit...so I just had to stick it in ;)**_

_**Not to mention it reminds me of my Gee. **_

"_**I want to love you but I better not touch...I want to hold you but my senses tell me to stop**_

_**I want to kiss you but I want it too much...I want to taste you but your lips are venomous poison"**_

_**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**_

**Oh by the way I'd really like to check I'm not imagining things here...I'd hugely appreciate it if a few of you would check out this story and confirm what i think...that the storyline is virtually identical to this one. Not too happy when i found this...**

**www dot fanfiction dot net/s/7799715/1/Or_swing_from_a_rope_if_you_dare**


	15. Teenagers

**Good day my dearest readers! It feels like I have begun starting every chapter with an apology for the amount of time its taking, and unfortunately I know it's taking a long time. With this particular chapter however, I lost over half of it and was forced to rewrite it –three times over. I must learn to press 'save' more diligently...**

**But it is here now! Rejoice! Read! **

_This chapter is for my Gee. Because she is gone, and I miss her. _

_It's for her, and for her new girlfriend Milly. Because if she can't be mine, I want her to be happy._

_I went to see her in the end. I met her outside in the dark, the night before she left for uni. I hadn't seen her in months, but I had to say goodbye. I forgave her. I gave her our memories._

_I carve her name into my arm over and over, reopening the wounds every night._

_Now she is hundreds of miles away._

_But I won't forget._

**/**

**/**

Alicia had serious issues with keeping her mouth shut when she ought to.

"Gerard it's only because we care. You were so lost when H died. You're like a brother to me, I dont' want to see you hurt again."

_The world is ugly, and I am part of the reason._

Her words fell around me like scattered ashes, never resting, never meaning anything. She didn't know the truth, none of them did. H didn't die because I loved him –he died because I didn't.

Because I couldn't.

_Because you never learned a goddamn thing_

I didn't help him when I realised the truth. I wasn't kind, and I wasn't gentle. I was afraid, so afraid that he would continue to love me. He was wrong, I still believe that now. We were never meant to be together, H and me. The very similarities that made us best friends also rendered us absolutely and utterly incompatible. We were too alike, and if I had loved him in the same way I have no doubt he would cease to love me. We were not capable of loving one another equally.

I was always afraid.

I can see my part in his death. I know it was my fault, and I know he would still be alive today if I had not done what I did, in that terrible final scene. I accept the blame. Throughout the years I capitalised on his feelings for me, his willingness to do anything for me, and watched as I twisted my sunny-natured best friend into a dark, sardonic young man.

I am the reason he put that rope around his neck.

_There's a dozen reasons in this gun_

But I have reconciled myself to it. Despite the scars on my arms and heart alike, I have learned to live with the knowledge that I destroyed my best friend. I accept it, and I try to live my life the best I can with that knowledge locked in my heart.

None of which gave Alicia the right to bring it up.

"Say something Gerard. I still remember it all, I just want to make sure the same thing doesn't happen again" Alicia said, looking at me worriedly.

I ignored her, letting my eyes glance around the little music room we stood in. I could hear Frank and Mikey playing on the other side of the door, and was tempted to leave Alicia here with her words, and just go join them.

Waving a hand in front of my face, Alicia continued her losing battle. At this rate I was going to have to say something just to get her to shut up...

"I know it's not really my place, but Mikey says Frank is a lot like H, and you two have gotten close so quickly..."

Right. Time to shut her up.

"They're nothing alike Alicia, don't worry" I flashed my teeth in a parody of a smile, and she looked taken aback.

"Look, all we're saying is to be careful" Alicia said slowly.

"I don't need your advice or help thanks" I said more slowly, as though speaking to a very young child. I wished she would stop, it was nothing to do with her and she was overstepping the mark.

"Gera-"

"Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about, and it's not your place"

"Mikey is your brother, and he's worried someone so messed up will affect you too!"

"Don't judge Frank like that" I spat. "I don't know why Mikey's being like this, but you don't have to copy his attitude! And I'm not your responsibility"

Before she could say another word, I stormed from the room into the main music centre, banging the door shut behind me. I was furious and barely holding it together, but catching sight of the fear in Frank's hollow eyes as he took in my face, was enough to hold back the select words I had in mind to say to Mikey.

Without a word, Mikey rose from his position sitting on a large amplifier against the wall, and carefully placed his bass upright in its stand. As Alicia came out of the room behind me, he took her hand and they left the room.

Apparently silence says it all.

Frank was still sitting awkwardly, the guitar in his arms looking too big for him as he shuffled his feet nervously, occasionally peeking up at me through his dark fringe. I could feel all my anger draining away as I took in his wariness, and with a sigh, forced a smile to my lips.

"Sorry about that, I hope Mikey was okay while you were out here?"

Frank actually looked confused, his brow creasing in the most adorable way as he looked at me "Of course he was, why wouldn't he be? Oh! And he knows that song we played too!"

/

_Thank god the first day was over_ I thought, as we walked slowly home. I knew there was going to be music to face, for the way we left this morning. But it was necessary.

Frankie seemed exhausted; his feet dragged along the pavement in his too-big shoes, the slump of his shoulders betraying his weariness. He hadn't spoken the whole way, and I could only imagine how hard this was for him to cope. It made my heart ache to think of it.

I chewed on my nails nervously as we approached the front door, wincing as I bit into the flesh. Disgusting habit, but a real bitch to break. I hesitated on the doorstep, and then winced as it swung inwards. "Hi mom" I muttered, attempting to sidle past the formidable figure in the doorway.

"Gerard Way, a word with you please" mom demanded, her hands on her hips. The flowery apron kind of detracted from the intimidation effect, unfortunately.

Tossing my messenger bag to the side, I nodded at her, and turned to Frankie. "Did you get given any homework today?" I asked in mock concern. He nodded shyly at me, twisting the strap of his bag with nervous fingers. "Okay you head down, and I'll be along soon to see if you need any help" I said cheerfully, winking when my mother turned away.

I wondered if she'd actually swallow the idea of me doing work.

Following her into the living room, I sat down opposite her, and braced myself or the onslaught. To my surprise though, she hadn't started shouting yet.

"Gerard" she said quietly, and I looked up, wondering why she looked so sad.

"Your father and I were very worried when you and Frank left so early this morning"

I made to interrupt her, but she cut me off. "We were worried Gerard, and you know why. Frank is not only in a very vulnerable position; he is also not your sole responsibility."

How could I explain to her that somehow, already...he was? I knew things she didn't about him, I knew what he did to himself, and I knew I had to fight for him. He was just a kid, and it felt like I was the only one who might be able to save him.

"Mom..." I mumbled, trying to figure out how to phrase it. "I know I haven't...I mean, these last few years have been difficult..."

Well that was an understatement. I'd barely spoken to anyone except Mikey since I was fourteen.

"But Frankie, well, he's worse than me. And I want to help. I think I can help" I said slowly. "But also...when I'm with him, it's like I can see again. Like, I couldn't see a future except that basement with my drawings a few days ago. But now, I want to have a future. And I want him to have one too."

I couldn't think of another way of describing the hope he gave me. I was absolutely hell bent on saving him, and somehow, that made saving myself seem a lot easier.

Since he had arrived, it felt like things had changed. I could feel it inside me, where I kept the darkest parts locked away. I hadn't cut myself, hadn't burned myself since I met him. In trying to care for him, it felt like I was hurting less.

Mom's eyes softened as she looked at me. "I understand where you're coming from" she said. "But you can help all of us help Frankie. We all care about him Gerard, your Father and me as much as anyone. What we can't have however is you taking too much responsibility for him. You're just seventeen."

"Mum, I don't think you see how serious things with Frankie are" I said. I didn't want to tell her the extent of his problem, but I didn't see how I could keep it from her for too much longer.

"What do you mean?" Mum asked. "I think of anyone Gerard, you know less of Frank's problems. While your father and I are happy you're taking an interest, remember that Frank's primary care must come from us."

"But mum, I think..." I paused, unsure how to tell her.

"Yes?" Mum prompted.

"I think...just that Frank is worse than he's trying to let on to you and dad."

Mum sighed, and just looked at me. "Remember, before Frank came to stay, he was at hospital overnight, where a thorough analysis was undertaken. He's returning next week for a check up, and some injections he missed. He will also be starting regular therapy sessions. Does this put your mind at rest that we are aware of our situation?"

I wanted to respond, but before I could, she changed topics. "What do you mean, you want a future now?" she asked.

I really didn't know how to answer that. Ever since everything went dark, I had seen nothing for myself but living with my parents, drawing pictures no-one wanted to see, and falling further into the black until I died. But looking at Frankie, I finally saw just how much worse it could be. I wanted to be his friend, and I didn't want him to follow the path I was taking. It was like this was the last chance for both of us.

"I guess...well, it's my last year now. I never really thought about college, I just thought I'd stay here. But my art teachers always told me I should try and go somewhere with my art. I'm wondering if maybe I should apply...but my grades are terrible" I said, ending in a rush of jumbled words.

I looked up anxiously, to see my mother looking at me, as if someone had clubbed her over the head. "You...you're thinking of going to college now?" she asked incredulously.

I squirmed uncomfortably. "Err yeah..." I muttered, keeping my eyes down.

For a long moment no one spoke, and then my mom reached out and took my hand. "Gerard let me be completely frank with you. The way you have conducted yourself in your attitude towards studying in the past few years, will have an enourmous effect on any application you plan to make. You know you're not going to be able to get in on your GPA alone?"

"Yeah, I know"

"Think it over then. I suggest speaking to your teachers, and looking at alternate ways of applying. Then come back to me and we'll talk it over, with your father as well" she said, standing up.

Following her lead, I got to my feet. Then to my surprise, she pulled me into a sudden hug, and smiled at me, before leaving the room.

I stood still, wondering what on earth I'd just confessed myself into. And what this would mean. It was all an idea that came to me through the day, the realisation that I didn't want to live this way anymore. College! Things had just gotten very scary and serious.

/

_There is nothing left of you_

_I can see it in your eyes_

_Sing the anthem of the angels_

_And say your last goodbye_

_I keep holding onto you_

_But i can't bring you back to life_

_Sing the anthem of the angels_

_And say your last goodbye._

Mum had left me with a lot of thoughts to consider. I didn't think they were aware that Frank was clearly having problems with eating, or surely they would be taking more action. But perhaps it would come to light in the future. I couldn't see if this was a bad thing or a good thing in some ways. Much as I wanted Frankie to get the help he needed, the wavering edge he was balancing on seemed so fragile, and I worried he'd just snap if the adults became involved.

I walked downstairs slowly, my head swimming.

I had known living with, and caring for Frankie would be hard. I had known it would take time, that his disorders were serious and potentially would become progressively worse. However, what I couldn't have predicted what the sharp ache in my heart, when I walked downstairs, into my bedroom and found it empty.

Because I knew where he was, and I knew what he was doing.

Pausing only to grab a clean shirt from my draw on the way out, I dashed upstairs not caring who saw me, and along the hallway. I paused briefly before the white bathroom door, then steeled myself and pushed inside.

There he was on the floor. Small, helpless, broken.

Again.

It didn't matter that I'd walked in on him doing this before; looking at his little shape curled on the floor would never begin to hurt less. Why was he doing this again? He'd barely eaten anything at breakfast and nothing else all day. Was that tiny portion of food really too much for him? Could nothing really be too much?

Ignoring the bloody streaks of vomit across his thin chest and hands, I pulled him into my arms from his frozen crouching position. He refused to look at me, keeping his face turned away and his head hanging. The shame radiated from him, and I hugged him fiercely, trying to put everything I felt into that one touch.

He pushed me away, wrapping his arms around himself, trying in vain to cover his portruding ribs and hip bones.

"Frankie...why?" I asked. It felt like deja vu. Could it really have been only yesterday that I asked him this again?

He looked up at me with exactly the same expression as last time. A mixture of shame and defiance, which said he wasn't going to stop. But there was something more there now. An aching misery, emptiness on the other side of his brown eyes. I felt a sob choking up in my throat, and I held him closer to smother it.

"I'm sick" He whispered, but I could hear the emptiness behind the words. "That's all. Just leave me alone, I'll be fine soon."

_There is nothing left of you...I can see it in your eyes..._

"Please Frankie" I said softly. "Please, just try. I don't want to lose you"

He fell silent, and I heard his unspoken words.

You already have.

_I keep holding on to you...But I can't bring you back to life..._

Then he turned his tearstained face to me. "Why Gee?" He asked. "Why can't you just leave me alone?!"

There was no guile in him, no angling, and no subterfuge. He was plainly and simply bewildered as to why anyone would want to help him.

I tried to turn it around; "Why would I?"

But that wasn't the right thing to say, because I watched the shutters fall over his eyes again. "I don't need help" He muttered, and tried to struggle out of my arms.

"No!" I shouted without thinking. I hadn't meant to shout, and I must have shocked him, because he stopped struggling and turned to me with total astonishment on his face.

"What?"

I wanted to talk, but that was a pretty loud shout...I winced. "Err, mom will probably come down to see who was shouting, we better move..."

Nodding, Frank made to stand, but his legs were shaking, so I ignored his protests and simply lifted him into my arms, walked down the hallway and downstairs. Kicking my bedroom door shut behind me, I lifted him onto his bed.

"Gera-"

"Not yet Frankie" I said. "We're going to talk this out, but first you need to get cleaned up".

With that, I returned to the bathrrom. Picking up the disregarded shirt on my way back, I turned on the tap and grabbed a facecloth. As I waited for the water to run warm, I looked at my reflection, and grimaced. My hair really needed redying, and my eyeliner was messy. I wasn't looking as pale as usual either, which was irritating. Christ, how was I supposed to be the resident freak without the appropriate pallour?!

Again

Wetting the cloth with warm water, I returned to my room. Relieved to see Frankie hadn't moved from where I left him, I pulled him towards me. Tenderely running the cloth over his body, I removed the last traces of the vomit, and then handed him my shirt to put on.

When he was dressed and ready, I turned to face him. I didn't want to judge, but how could I deny the anger I felt watching him hurt himself.

"Frank" I began slowly.

"There has to be a way here. This is chaos; this is jsut impossible to continue"

Frank didn't look at me, and didn't reply. I had seen the effect my anger had on him before, so I kept a tight hold of myself. "I just have to ask it Frankie. Do you want to die? Is this what it's about? Cause I've fucking been there, I know what its like!"

I could barely hear Frankies whisper "I don't want to die. Not yet."

"Then why are you doing this? Why won't you let me help you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I have a stomach virus, that's all. I'm fine."

"Bullshit Frank! I saw you!"

Suddenly his face twisted as he looked at me, and fury overcame his features. "Why can't you just shut up!" he howled. "I don't want you; I don't want any of you. Why couldn't you all have just left me alone?!"

"Frank!" I tried to reach for him but he pulled himself away.

"Don't touch me. You don't want to touch the 'little fag' do you?!"

There was so much malice in his face; it hurt to see. "What does that have to do with anything Frank?! Why does that matter? I'm talking about you having an eating disorder!"

Franks face was cold and guarded. I felt like I was pushing him too far, that I was risking losing him. But I couldn't stop now, I had to know. Was that why he shied away from me?

"I want to help you. You need help."

"You can stop pretending."

"Pretending what?"

"Like I don't disgust you everytime you look at me"

"What are you talking about? You don't!"

"Yeah right. Look, I'm gay but that doesn't mean I'm going to try anything okay! I know you don't want to be around me, you don't have to just do what your parents want."

"What does you being gay have to do with anything?!"

"I see it in your face. It disgusts you."

As this piece fell into place for me, the extent of Frank's misconception made me burst out laughing suddenly. The irony in the situation was so great. How hadn't he realised? Was the eyeliner, the tight jeans and the unhealthy obsessions with art and poetry not clues enough for him? I doubled over laughing.

Then I realised the look Frank was giving me. It was surprising actually. He was usually so timid and frightened, but this afternoon he was proving there was some fire in him after all.

"What's so funny?" he hissed.

"Frank...You know I'm gay too right?"

I couln't remember the last time I saw anyone look so utterly taken aback.

"You're...gay?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" I giggled. I didn't mean to, but I couldn't believe it hadn' been obvious from the start.

"But...why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you knew. I didn't think it was important. Not in comparison to everything else going on."

"There is nothing else going on" Frank said flatly.

Frankie looked absolutely exhausted, but I couldn't give up now.

"Show me your arms Frankie." I said. He was wearing a t shirt so technically I could see them anyway, but I wanted him to show me. Shaking his head, he wrapped them around himself and turned away from me. "No" h muttered. "It's none of your business"

"Show me your arms, and then tell me there is no problem."

Slowly, deliberately looking away from me, he extended his forearms. They were covered, absolutely covered in scars. So many that you could hardly see the skin beneath in places. Some were healing, some looked years old.

I wasn't shocked though. Oh no, I'd seen this before...on myself.

I wondered that Frank had never been curious about the deep burns and gashes on my desk, about the blood ingrained in my carpet, about the cuts and rips in my mattress. Taking his shaking little arm, more skin and bone than flesh, I lightly traced my fingers over his scars. I kept my touch delicate, so delicate. I knew how sensitive broken skin was. Then returning my arm to him, I slowly pulled up my sleeves so he could see.

I was his mirror image. Scarred, distorted, and broken.

"See?" I said softly.

"I understand. I've been there. We can make this better, I promise."

Turning to me, Frank pulled back his arms and looked into my face. His expression twisted, and then suddenly broke as he burst into tears.

Without hesitating, I pulled him into my arms, and held his frail body close, gently stroking his hair.

This time he didn't pull away.

/

**So was it worth the wait? I tried so very hard to make it a little bit longer –by a few hundred words anyway ^^**

**It's hard to watch Frank getting so angry, but denial is a huge factor in eating disorders. I have to warn you now that things will get a lot worse before they get better. **

**Buuut the truth is out about Gerard. That has to make some of you happy right? **

**_"I carved your name into my arm so I would remember you"_**

**_-Kill Hannah 3_**

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	16. The Only Hope For Me Is You

**You lucky fuckers, it would appear that a broken heart is good inspiration for writing. Wrote this darling chapter flat out in a day, just for you all.**

**Enjoy! Except with such depressing subject matter I feel perhaps that is an unwise sentiment... **

**_Today, I'm remembering that day at band practice, in the middle of summer. How we were early, so we stopped to buy lunch, and then drove through town in her car, blasting The Only Hope For Me Is You through the speakers, singing at the top of our voices. How we pulled up outside, how I took her hand and neither of us moved until the song ended. _**

**_I remember laughing as she took over the drums later that day, when our drummer left the room. I remember walking over to her, grabbing the sticks from her hands and stealing a kiss, when no one was around. _**

**_I remember standing onstage at our last gig, the lights flashing bright in my eyes, screaming out the lyrics to Famous Last Words. I remember the distance between us by then. I remember realising that yes, I am afraid to keep on living. _**

**_And I am afraid to walk this world alone._**

**_/_**

**_/_**

**_/_**

Why couldn't the world just leave me alone? I was tired, so goddamn bone-weary tired of fighting them.

Gerard held me tight in his arms, like he was trying to surround me with his warmth. For the first time I could see, really see that he cared. He meant it, he wanted to help. But couldn't he understand that he was going about it the wrong way? If he wanted to make things better, he needed to leave me alone. He should have left me alone in that flat, where I could die like an animal, and be content to do so.

Gerard didn't let go, he just held me through that long moment when the dam broke, and I couldn't help the tears that poured down my face. His arms around me were strong, lean but muscular and I knew that even if I struggled I wouldn't be able to break his grip.

His arms.

How had I missed them? It all made sense now, the way he wore long sleeves constantly, the worry in his mother's eyes when she looked at him. I'm sure they thought I hadn't noticed, but could recognise concern in a person's face; I'd seen it often enough on doctors looking at me.

Gerard hadn't pulled his sleeves down yet, and through my helpless tears I could see the ridges on his arms, just like mine. But no matter what he said, he still didn't understand. He couldn't feel how hollow I was. He was so beautiful, so perfect in every way –how could he understand the ugliness that tortured me? I wasn't ill, I was trying to get rid of the poison corroding me inside out.

Gradually the tears began to slow, although my body was still wracked with shudders. Sniffling, I pulled myself back from Gerard. I'd covered his shirt in snot and tears, what must he think of me? Struggling out of his arms, I looked around for a tissue but he was already proffering one.

"Thanks" I muttered quickly, wiping my face then tossing the balled up tissue into the bin by his desk. "I'm sorry, didn't meant to do that."

Gerard sighed, and let me go, looking at me sadly. At least he was concealing his pity though: that I could not stand.

"Frankie" he said quietly. I hadn't noticed that he called me that before, but it surprised me. No-one had ever had a nickname for me before. There was something personal about it, something unusually tender the way he said it. But really, wholly unnecessary.

_Mama used that name for me._

The thought came unbidden to my mind, and I pushed it away as swiftly as I could. It was bad enough coping with my nightmares, and the waking horror of my flashbacks. I didn't need the few memories I treasured to be tainted in the same way.

_Little Frankie. My little Frankie._

Wrenching my thoughts back to the present, I refused to allow the memory of her soft voice to overpower me. Looking around to distract myself, I realised Gerard was giving me an odd look. Had he been talking?

"Sorry, what was that?" I said quickly, covering for my slip.

He eyed me suspiciously, but answered all the same; "I said you're allowed to cry Frankie. You have more reason to than most of us, that's for sure."

I couldn't really cope with all this niceness. Now my suspicions at his deep- seated disgust at my sexuality had all turned out to be empty and false, I wasn't too sure what to say. This meant he was being genuine, that he must actually really care. Unless of course he was just trying to help his parents. But then from what I'd seen, he didn't exactly have the best relationship with his parents either...talking of his parents...

"What were you talking to your mum about Gerard?" I asked, ignoring the last thing he said.

Gerard looked surprised, and then a slight blush tainted his cheeks, and he gave me an almost embarrassed look, before turning away to face the rest of his room, gazing intently at his desk as he stalled for time. I wasn't that amazing at reading people after eleven years of not seeing them, but I'd bet everything I had that Gerard was doing some lightening fast thinking right about now.

"I was discussing my future with her" He finally said, quietly. "And about how I'm thinking of going to college, after this year ends."

"Oh."

Nothing he said could have surprised me more actually. I suppose it was foolish really, to assume that just because I could see nothing but darkness and death for me, Gerard would be the same. But in a way I felt betrayed too. I had thought, once I saw his arms, that here for once was a person who was buried in the same darkness that I was.

"So...now you go off to college and everything is all wonderful?" I asked, hating how hard my voice sounded. I couldn't believe I was acting like this, I hadn't spoken back to anyone for as long as I could remember, and I cringed a little remembering the times when I had. Remembering the pain, the blows, the shouting. _The endless hurting._

"Well...no. Not exactly" Gerard said, oblivious to the conflict in me. "I won't get in for a start. I need...I need a portfolio, and right now I don't have one."

Needed a what?

"Forgive me for being a little out of the loop Gerard" I mumbled, "But I don't really know anything about college."

_Because I'd been locked in the same small apartment for eleven fucking years._

"What is a 'portfolio'" I asked.

Gerard smiled, seeming relieved that I was talking normally again. "It means I need a selection of around twenty of what I consider my best works, covering a range of subjects and mediums, which I then send to the college for them to assess."

"Ah."

There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

"Actually Frank...I wanted to ask you. I know I drew you the other night, but I was wondering...would you let me paint you? It's so interesting looking at your face, it's so angular and..." Then he cut off, blushing furiously and looking appalled at himself.

Of course he wouldn't want to say out loud how hideous my features were. He wouldn't want to be impolite, and mention my waxy yellowing skin, or the deep purple circles under my eyes. He most certainly wouldn't want to point out that he'd noticed the way my cheekbones cut across my face like a knife, or how my teeth were loose and chipped, or that my straggly dark hair couldn't stop falling out. Nope, he'd just paint it instead. Say with his brush what he couldn't with his mouth.

Would I let him paint me? Record all of my misery and degradation, my ugliness for the whole world to see?

Why of course I would.

/

Sitting at the dinner table that evening wasn't as hard as I would have expected it to be. I was prepared to deal with Gerard watching me constantly, analysing every mouthful I took to make sure it went down. But there seemed to be some weird tension going on between Gerard and Mikey that detracted from it all. Gerard's mother was talking to me, doing her best to ask me all about my day, which suited me just fine –it made it all the easier not to eat.

I gave her the short abbreviated version of my day. The heavily edited one, truth be known. Gerard had already warned me she didn't need to hear about our little run in with Justin and his friend –That it would only make it worse.

"Frank" he had said earlier that evening, looking serious as he leaned against the doorframe to block me from going upstairs.

"Mum's going to ask you about your day when we get up there. Please don't think I'm stopping you from telling her everything, but I really don't think her finding out about those guys cornering us today is the best idea"

He looked slightly pained, as if he hated asking me to lie. I didn't mind; lying was as second nature to me as breathing. You learn fast when there are people in white coats around.

"Why not?" I asked, a little curious in spite of myself. _Curious. _It surprised me. I hadn't realised I had developed a sense of curiosity.

How concerning.

Gerard grinned wryly at me. "She's a mom, what can I say? She worries, you know how it is..." then his voice trailed off, and he looked horrified at himself.

I didn't really register his expression though. I was too busy fighting the blackness in my head. I refused, I fucking refused to let it overcome me one more time today. Against the odds, I kept on my feet. But that was worse, because it meant I had to face the horror all by myself.

No; I didn't know how it was.

The screech as Mikey pulled his chair back and left the table brought me back to the present with a jolt. Levering his tall, lanky frame out of the chair, Mikey left the room without a backwards glance.

I wondered what that was about. Gerards mother opened her mouth as if to call after him, but his father put a warning hand on her arm, and with an unhappy look at her husband, she turned back to the table.

Gerard wasn't quite so easily pacified; I watched as he texted something furiously under the table, shooting a filthy look out the door.

Gerard turned around just as I put my hands back on the table. His eye narrowed in suspicion as he saw how little was left on my plate. I smiled weakly at him, and he glared back.

Damn. This one didn't trust me one little bit, I thought glancing down at the food hidden in my lap. The next time he turned to speak to his father, I squirreled it into my pockets, then picked up my knife and fork again, and began pushing the remaining food slowly around my plate, occasionally chewing a tiny morsel.

It was vegetables at least. No fat, no sugar. I couldn't exactly get much uglier from that.

To pass the time, I drank the water from my glass. Cool and delicious, it soothed my burning throat, and gave me something to do with my hands. The tension only increased after Mikey had left, and after a few cursory questions about school and how things were going, I was allowed to follow Gerard from the table.

It was twilight outside, I noticed as we passed the hall windows on the way back to his room. The trees across the street painted dark patterns against the dimming sky, rustling in the strangest way. The streetlights were coming on, one by one their orange glow lighting the sidewalk.

_Where will we stand...when all the lights go out, across these city streets...where were you when all of the embers fell? I still remember them..._

Where did the words come from? I didn't know, and I didn't care to wonder. I was exhausted. In all honesty I had been exhausted since I had arrived. Walking was such a novelty to me still, that after a day of it my legs were shaking like leaves, the muscles thin and stringy. Helpless, like me.

No sooner had Gerard shut the door behind us, than I fell into bed, worn out. Wrapping the thick duvet around me, I would barely open my mouth to tell Gerard goodnight. To thank him for everything. I was just about dead already.

Gerard hummed tunelessly as he sat at his desk, sketching away late into the night. I tossed and turned, disturbed by the pale light of his desk lamp. And my head was swimming.

I was so tired I had expected to fall into slumber immediately. But sleep eluded me while I had these questions on my mind. I had avoided the subject with him earlier, had refused to think of it myself, or of what it could mean. But now I had to. Gerard was gay too?

Why hadn't he told me earlier? Surely he knew how I felt, surely it was written on my face plain as day. After all, I had told him. Hell, I had _warned _him. Wasn't that the perfect time for him to tell me too? Clearly not.

Or...a darker thought came into my head. Did he think I was one of _those _ones? Did he think that I was that needy and desperate that the moment I realised he was gay I would attach myself to him like some sick, disturbed octopus.

It all made so much sense now I thought of it that way. Of course, he didn't want me to know because he didn't want me to get any ideas about us. I almost laughed at that. As if I would! It wasn't that he wasn't the most perfect, beautiful and amazing person I had ever set eyes upon –because he most certainly was.

No, it was the plain and simple fact that not only was Gerard Way a few hundred million miles out of my league...but he was also going to be alive a fair few decades more than I was.

Oh no, don't think anything had changed there. As soon as I hit eighteen, just as soon as I knew the truth...I was gone. I was dead like my mother, like my father, like my whole goddamn mother-fucking family. And then...then we could be together again. Maybe then I could finally erase the darkness in my head.

I felt the tears starting to prick behind my eyelids again, in spite of myself. I wished I could just be alone. I lay there, the only sound in the room my slow breaths, and the scratching of Gerard's pencil on the paper, as he covered sheet after sheet with god knows what. I stayed quiet. I clenched my fists so hard I felt nails puncture the skin, and hunched my shoulders. The tears trickled down my cheeks, painfully stinging. But I refused to make a sound. I had spent years hiding my tears, what would one more night matter?

Gerard moved softly, and turned the light out. I heard the bed creaking as he climbed to the bunk above me. "Goodnight Frankie" he whispered softly, thinking I was asleep. "Sweet dreams honey".

As I lay there, the tears gradually stopped their trickling down my cheeks. I felt my mind begin to spin, and the day finally begin to catch up with me. My last thought, was of Gerard.

_Sweet dreams honey._

_/_

_I was safe here. Safe in the dark where he couldn't find me. I had found my magic place, the world where his cock and her hands couldn't touch me._

_It was nice here. Peaceful, in fact. But I was watching him, from this far away place. I didn't like having to watch._

_He was only tiny, just a scrap of a thing lying on the floor in the darkened room. I was high in the clouds above him, but I didn't like it one little bit._

_I closed my eyes so I didn't have to see the hurting part. I knew what would follow, the shouting and the hitting. I could already hear his cries, and the crunching as he was smashed into the floor. I could hear the steady dripping of blood, and the screech of a new voice. The woman. I liked her even less._

_With my eyes closed, not seeing, I tried to close my ears as well. I didn't want to watch as she undressed him, or as she held him down for the man to penetrate him. I refused to see, the way she took the knife and trailed it lovingly down his arm, or the way she sliced her initials across his belly, then spat in the blood dripping down his thighs. Poison, black poison blood running through his veins. Poison in his heart._

_Maybe, just maybe if I stayed here in the clouds for long enough. Maybe when I came back, they would be gone._

_Maybe I could forget he was me._

_The moment my battered mind acknowledged this possibility it was all over. I was looking through my eyes, seeing her greasy face shoved close to mine. I began to scream, as the white hot fire flashed across my stomach where I could feel her name carved into my skin. I writhed as I heard him grunting behind me, felt the tearing as he forced himself inside me._

_A blow to the back of the head reminded me. I was instantly silent, limp and unresponsive like a rag doll. He didn't like it when I made any sounds. She did though._

_"Now darling, behave" She chided gently, and I whimpered. Not again._

_I couldn't bear it again. Too many years. How many now? Ten? Eleven? There had to be another way._

_Behind me he groaned as he came, and before I could stop myself I was clawing at his face, trying to reach his eyes, gouge them out._

_Next thing I was flat on the floor as he knocked me to the ground._

_Then his fist was coming towards my face..._

_/_

I could hear screaming. Panicked, terrified screaming that was just going on and on...

"Frank!"

What?

Suddenly I realised the screaming was coming from me. Cutting myself off with a gurgle, I covered my mouth with the blanket to muffle the uncontrollable sobs that were racking my whole body from the force of them.

But it had been so clear, just like I was there again.

"Frank what's wrong?" Gerard asked, his tone of voice telling me this wasn't the first time he'd asked.

"I...I'm sorry, just a bad dream" I muttered, making to turn away. I felt rather than heard him hesitate, but before he could say a word, the lights flashed on. I cringed back against the sheets under the glare, squinting up.

It was Gerard's mother, wrapped in a dressing gown and looking barely awake.

Great, now I was ruining the rest of his whole family. Wonderful, they must be so glad they took me in.

Donna walked towards the bed slowly, rubbing her eyes. The sobs were still choking their way out of my chest, but I didn't miss the warning look she gave Gerard, who quickly left the room.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Gerard's mom didn't say anything, she just waited and gave me time to get myself under control. When I felt like I could speak without my voice breaking, I struggled to sit up. "I'm sorry" I coughed out weakly, my throat hoarse from the screams.

"Frank its okay" Donna tried to smile reassuringly at me, but there was too much worry in her eyes for it to be entirely successful.

"What was it, a bad dream?"

"Yeah.." I said, letting the words trail off.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Donna was keeping at least a foot of distance between us, not letting herself get too close. It could be because she didn't want to freak me out, but chances were it was because I was a wreck, i looked vile, and...Oh god, I could feel it. I'd pissed myself too.

"No, I don't want to talk about it thanks" I whispered, trying to move away from her subtly.

"I understand" She nodded, then reached over and touched my hand. I flinched at the unfamiliar contact, but she pretended not to notice, and brushed her fingers over mine soothingly.

"I just want you to know Frank, that Donald and I care about you very much. We know what happened, you don't have to hide from us. We're here to help you. We want you to consider yourself part of our family now."

I couldn't hide the tears at this. Part of their family? No, that was something I could never be. I couldn't taint their lives like this, it was bad enough that I was doing it for the time being.

Mistaking my tears for a different emotion, Donna leaned over and gave me a brief hug, her body soft and her scent flowery. I refused to allow the memories this brought back to break through the walls this time. Enough was enough.

With a last sad smile, she left the room.

Moments later, Gerard was through the door and straight to my side. Unlike his mother, he wasted no time in pulling me into his arms. I pulled away, embarrassed by the sharp smell rising from the sheets, acrid and humiliating. How could I fucking piss myself in his bed? Of all the shame I had suffered since coming here, somehow this was the worst.

I saw the moment Gerard realised what had happened, and still sitting tangled in the sheets, I flushed as deep a red as my sallow complexion would allow. Next thing I was in Gerard's arms, and he was carrying me out the room. What?

I struggled feebly, but it was no good. My strength was all used up this endless night, so I gave in and slumped against his chest, his already familiar arms holding my disgusting body tightly.

I was barely conscious by the time we reached the bathroom, but as Gerard carefully peeled the clothes from my body I couldn't help tensing with remembered pain. I hated people seeing me.

I must have dozed off here, because I have only a vague memory of a warm cloth running over me. Of clean pyjama pants, and of a warm soft bed, where a boy held me in his arms, held me so close and whispered to me that he would never let me go.

The last thing I recall is the voice, singing with such emotion I felt it even through my now dreamless sleep.

His voice.

"_If there's a place that I could be_

_Could I be another memory?_

_Can I be the only hope for you?_

_Because you're the only hope for me_

_And if we can't find where we belong_

_We'll have to make it on our own_

_Face all the pain, and take it on_

_Because the only hope for me is you alone"_

_/_

_/_

_/_

**_Sad now. Poor Frankie. But I must say, it feels truly pathetic making myself upset with my own fanfiction. Hmmm oh well, I can't be the first._**

**_Hope you...well perhaps enjoyed is the wrong word. Hope you appreciated the chapter. Thank you for your reviews. One or two made me cry reading them this morning. I do so adore you, my dearest reviewers._**

**_"And you fix all my cracked broken bones...and replace all my black poison blood..."_**

**_-Kill Hannah 3_**

**_-Hana Belladonna xoxoxo_**


	17. Bulletproof Heart

Here it is darlings? Sorry about the wait, my netbook wouldnt upload to the internet and you cant get word on a Ipad apparently, which is pissing me off raaaather a lot.

Anyway, here now :) Enjoy they boys!

_Today, I just miss you Gee. Happy Birthday love.I hope you have a wonderful day._

/

I awoke slowly, slightly confused. The air in the basement bedroom seemed to have grown colder over night, and I could feel the chill on the tip of my nose. I opened my eyes a crack, but the windowless room provided no light, and I shivered slightly. Still groggy with sleep, I rolled over with every intention of returning to slumber as swiftly as possibly.

Unfortunately I found my way blocked with something very warm, bony and still. For a moment I was too far asleep still to make sense of this apparation in my bed, then the events of the night came flooding back to me, as the various angles of the form next to me arranged themselves into slender limbs, and a round rolling head.

Frank looked so peaceful in sleep. He was angled towards me, his arm lying on the pillow between us as though he had fallen asleep reaching for me, his eyes closed and his muscles slack. Taking care not to wake him, I carefully extricated myself from the blankets, and dropped to the floor from the top bunk with a muted thud.

It was even colder without the blankets, and I pulled a hoodie over my pyjamas, before turning swiftly to the bottom bunk. I had been so tired in the night I hadn't time to deal with everything; only Frank. The memory of his haunting screams made me shudder. What nightmares he had been reliving I couldn't bear to imagine. Thank goodness his screams had woken me, enough for me to wake him.

Stripping the bed swiftly, I crept upstairs through the silent house, the dripping pile of sheets in my arms. It was still very early, I realised. Early enough that my mother, father, even Mikey were still sleeping. Moving quickly to the laundry room, I left the sheets in a pile, before grabbing fresh ones and heading back down. It was freezing in the rest of the house; my breath gusted out before me in pale clouds, reminding me that winter was coming. It was only a week to halloween, then only two months to midwinter.

Would Frank still be with us then?

Forcing the unwilling thoughts away, I re-entered the bedroom, and made the bed quickly and quietly, finishing just as Frank began to stir.

/

We ate breakfast in silence that morning. When I say we ate, I mean I drank cup after cup of coffee, to warm me, following it down with toast, while Frank sat unwillingly next to me and nibbled an apple. The cold that had descended overnight seemed to be affecting Frank worse than me; he huddled next to the radiator, even wrapped in the thickest hoodie I owned, shivering periodically.  
>I wanted to force the issue with the food, but his quiet aquiesence with the apple made me less inclined. Besides, after the night Frank had had, I felt he deserved a break. Not enough of one that I didn't supervise his trips to the bathroom very carefully, but a break all the same.<p>

Mikey stumbled into the kitchen just as we were standing up, bleary eyed and barely awake. I wondered how many hours he'd been on the phone to Alicia last night.

"You okay Mikes?" I asked, trying to be friendly. Our arguement last night was still spinning in my head, and I wanted to clear the air.

"Yeah, you?" he muttered.

"Mhmm. No Alicia yet?" I wondered. Alicia usually arrived in time for breakfast, then walked to school with us.

Mikey scowled. "No, her stepdad is being a prick this week, wants her home all the time. Her dad's being sent away tomorrow, and her mum and stepdad don't want her trying to see him."

Alicia's dad was in the military, and had been back around for the last year or so, recovering from an injury Mikey said. I heard the parents talking though, and it was actually PTSD, which made it more reasonable that Alicia's mother and stepfather didn't want her seeing him.

Unfortunately it made Mikey a right grumpy fucker when his girlfriend wasn't happy.

Nodding sympathetically at Mikey, I gestured to the coffeepot. "There's some left if you want it".

/

It felt odd, walking to school with Frank and Mikey. Odd, because in a way it idn't feel strange at all. It was only his second day here, but we could have been doing this for decades.

Frank was marginally more cheerful, now that Mikey had stopped acting the the world's biggest cock. I wasn't sure when or why exactly this change of heart had come to pass, but I wasn't complaining. The walk was vastly preferrable this way, and I was grateful Mikey was trying.

Alicia met us at the front gate, then she and Mikey peeled off to find their friends, while Frank and I walked quickly through the grimy corridors to the reception. I wanted to check if Frank had a different timetable to me now, and I had the forms all carefully signed by my parents.

Stepping into the pretty little reception room, I handed the forms to the receptionist without a word. She could figure out what they were for herself. Scanning them through her glasses, the woman nodded severly, then gestured Frank forward, from his half hidden stance behind me.  
>"Mr Iero I understand from this that you have had no highschool education in the past several years?" she asked disapprovingly.<p>

"Ye..no..I, no." Said Frank stutteringly, looking frightened as he attempted to move back imperceptibly.

"Very well. I trust your parents are arranging tutors?" That last part was directed at me, and while I had no idea, I nodded in the affirmative.

"In that case, as it is your last year Mr Iero, we will mainstream you initially and see how things go for you. We will place you in bottom set for all your classes, and reassess the situation next term. There is also a matter of electives. Yesterday we gave you the same timetable as Mr Way here, who has taken art and music for his. Would you like to do the same, or choose others?"

Frank looked utterly bewildered, but as I already knew he liked guitar, and I could help him in art, I stepped forward quickly "Frank already said he wants to continue the same as me miss" I lied, pretending I didn't see Frank's confusion beside me.

"Very well then" the receptionist said, handing me a fresh timetable. "Good day. Feel free to come to me with any problems" she directed at Frank.

"Thank you".

Steering Frank along the corridor, we made it into our homeroom before the bell, and quickly headed to the back of the classroom, to what had already become our seats.

Slumping forwards, Frank rested his head in his arms, his mop of hair covering his face. I had meant to speak to him about the events of the night, now we were out of the house, but he seemed so tired I felt it was unfair to disturb him further, and I left him to it, watching with narrowed eyes as the rest of the class filed in. It was a fairly quiet group, with the exception of a few girls. No one I was particularly worried about...but I wasn't taking any chances. Not with Frank, I thought, making sure to shoot warning glares at anyone who so much as glanced our way. Poor kid needed his sleep after the night he'd had.

"Iero" called the teacher. "Here sir" I replied quickly, nudging Frank with my elbow. He jumped about a mile, and I instantly regretted the action. I'd seen what being surprised did to him before, and I hoped to God I hadn't just triggered something. Thankfully, Frank pulled himself together enough to answer the teacher's repeated question, before returning to sleep.

All through English period one, he kept his head down, not particularly speaking to me, and ignoring everyone else. When there were questions that needed answering, he scrawled the best he could in his child's handwriting.

It was literally like watching a six year old try and write, and I felt my heart contract as I watched him trying to wrestle with a pencil. Everything in me ached to offer to do it for him, but I had already learnt there was too much pride in him for that.

We had finished the intial questions, when our english teacher Mrs Hope moved from her desk to the front of the classroom. Middle aged, but calm and dignified, she waited to catch our attention before speaking.

"As you know, this term you are required to produce a piece of written work based on a classic novel. This year, the selected book is Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Has anyone read this already?"

A few hands shot up, predictably from the front two rows. Needless to say, Frank and I were sprawled at the back. In my case, watching in amusement and sketching the teacher. In Frank's case...listening closely? Weird.

"Your essay title will be to discuss the literical differences between Darcy and Elizabeth, and Jane and Bingley, and how Austen achieves these effects. Any questions?"

Predictably, there were none.

The day grew progressively worse, filled with lessons I loathed. In our lunch hour, Frank and I found Mikey and Alicia and stayed with them. I felt guilty, always imposing on my little brother and his girlfriend...but I didn't quite want Frank to realise the full extent of what a loner I was, and how despised I truly and honestly was by the rest of the student population. He was so fragile and beautiful, like a little bird in my hand I was afraid would fly away at the slightest provocation. I didn't want to give him another reason to leave me.

Leave me? What an odd way of putting it. As if such a solitary creature as myself was ever truly present with anybody. I was helping Frank because I didn't want to see such a gentle, timid boy waste his life away, and because I felt tht he needed me. But I didn't need anyone.

Of course not. The little voice in my head muttered snidely. You don't need anyone, mister stone heart.

It was nearly time for our last lesson, and Frank and I were sitting on the soft chairs in the corner of the library, hidden from the view of other students and librarians by towering shelves of books. In My free periods, I would usually be in music, but there was no heating in the practice rooms, and Frank wasn't coping very well with the cold, so I'd make the executive descision to abandon my usual haunt for the afternoon. Besides, we'd be down there for the last lesson anyway.

I speculated idly if I should check out the Austen book, then wondered what I was thinking. It wasn't like I was going to do the fucking essay anyway.

Just then, the bell rang.

"Come on" I said brusquely to Frank, regretting my tone as I saw surprise flash across his face. "I mean...we're late for music." I turned back to grab my messenger bag, but not before I saw the smile on his face at the word. Of course, this should be right up his street. In spite of my horrible mood, I felt a smile come to my own lips at the memory of his guitar playing.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing"

/

We sidled into the music classroom, alongside the rest of the class. Our teacher, a short enthusiastic man ushered us in, then shut the door with a smile. For the first time since I'd met him, I saw Frank look a tiny bit anticipatory. Misreading his expression, I leaned in and whispered reassuringly "Don't worry if you don't understand. It doesn't matter, and the teacher will go easy on you." Frank nodded imperceptibly, an unreadable expression on his face as he took a seat at the back of the classroom, him and me, the two freaks at the back where no one would notice us.

Frank was scanning the board, reading the titles of the pieces we were studying, and the composers. He looked surprisingly alert, not his usual dead-eyed stare. Still, at least we were at the back where there was no call for us to participate.

Or so I had hoped.

"Right class! We're going to start today with a quiz on our last lesson, which contained a brief preliminary history of classical music. So! To start, who can tell me why the harmony in Stravinsky's Symphony of Psalms was significant, in relation to the time period?"

Here it goes...

Leaning back, I resisted the urge to put my feet on the desk, and closed my eyes. I was starting to feel as tired as Frank looked. I felt bad yet again for not talking to him, but he looked so exhausted that I couldn't bring myself to bother him.

I didn't hear him shift beside me.

I didn't see him raise his hand.

I didn't notice the teacher call on him.

But I heard the soft, hoarse voice coming from right beside me.

"The style is consonant, and all of the chords are root position or first inversion triads, most of them major. The only on-beat discords are suspensions, mostly crotchets. These add impetus to the dance feeling, and make it obvious that the piece was inspired by the baroque period."

...  
>...What...<p>

...The...

...hell...

I most certainly wasn't the only person staring at Frank with my mouth hanging open. The entire class had swivelled in their chairs to stare at the new kid who had just spoken up. A faint blush coloured Frank's cheeks, and he immedietly ducked his head and stared at the desk.  
>The teacher was the first to recover, after only a brief pause.<p>

"Excellent! Entirely correct. I believe you are new, Mr...?"

"Iero" Frank mumbled.

"Mr Iero! Well it seems you've already covered this piece, were you in an AP class at your last school?"

"I didn't...no sir."

"Then i'm glad to see you've done some research!" the teacher beamed, before moving onto the next question.

Slowly, the rest of the class settled, and began to ignore us again. Frank remained active, answering twice as many questions as everyone else. How could he possible know this? He had been locked up in that hole of a flat for years, according to dad. Never allowed to leave, and then even after he was abandoned, refusing to leave. How could he have learnt about music?

I turned to him the moment the teacher spoke to someone else, looking at him in disbelief. Frank looked up, meeting my eyes and smiling shyly but proudly.

"Bloody hell" I whispered under my breath, before turning back to the front.

The questions were driving me mad, and I waited impatiently for the bell to ring so I could ask him.

/

On the walk home, I asked it.

"Frank..how did you know that?"

Realising it might sound like I was calling him stupid, I added quickly "Have you ever had music lessons? Who taught you? I thought you hadn't been to school in years?" the questions were really spilling out now.

Frank sighed, and I felt bad for harrassing him. He was still the same stick-thin, worn out boy who had walked into the room with me, I really had to stop with being so aggressive.

We walked side in side in tandem for a few minutes, the only sound the cars rushing past us, and the chatter of a bunch of younger students on the other side of the road, walking the same way as us.  
>I had almost given up, when he answered me, in a voice so soft I had to strain to hear it.<p>

"There was a man, every night. He told me everything."

I suppressed a shudder at those words, could he mean...?

"Not him. Not my uncle." Frank said swiftly. "Another man. After they left me, he used to come every night. I never saw him, I..couldn't see anyone, I was too afraid. But he would sit outside the door and talk to me. He told me everything he knew about everything and anything."

Frank shivered, and it wasn't the cold air this time. Instinctively I reached out and entwined my fingers with his. I couldn't help it; it was like my instant response to anything was to protect Frankie, from whatever he needed. Who was this man?

I asked the obvious question, and Frank sighed again. The smile that had tugged at his lips when I took his hand faded, and was left with confusion.

"I don't know"

"How can you not know...?" I asked.

"He told me his name at the very beginning, but I don't remember." A frown came over Frankies face at this. "I find some things really hard to remember these days"

I wonder why I thought wryly. But now wasn't the time to bring up Frank's obvious eating disorder. I needed to know who this man was. Frank could have been in danger!

"Frank, can you explain more about this man? I'm not sure I understand what you mean"

ytars of being the son of a social worker had taught me to keep my questions open; people often said more that way.

Frank looked deep in thought for a moment, the he spoke. "I don't remember how long ago it was, I didn't keep track of days. But this man came to the door one night. I didn't open it, I was too scared. He knew my name, he spoke to me. I didn't know who he was, but he gave me a photograph...of a group of people. Him, my parents...and me. From years and years ago. I don't know how he knew them. But then he came almost every night. He sat outside the door for hours, and he spoke to me. He told me about everything, about the world, about books, art, history, culture and...music, especially music. He gave me my music".

We were still walking, but I couldn't suppress the shiver up my spine at this. Who was this man? The depth of the questions Frank had answered today were enough to convince me that he wasn't a simple music enthusiast, nope this guy knew his stuff.

Frank seemed relieved to have finished his story, and didn't offer me any more information. I wanted to ask more, but I couldn't decide which question to ask first. In the end, I simply nodded, and left it at that.

/

No sooner had we walked through the door than my own dearest mother collared me, and pulled me to one side, while telling Frank politely that he could go and start his homework.

"Gerard, your father and I need to speak to you" she said, an indecipherable expression on her face.  
>Great. Really? Two fucking days in a row? All this human interaction was going to give me a complex.<br>Frank headed downstairs without a word, and I sighed, then followed mother into the living room.  
>I hadn't seen my father since last night, hadn't spoken to him in much longer...since Frank arrived actually. I felt a brief twinge of regret as I looked at his careworn face. I really should make more effort with my family...<p>

"Gerard" My father began. "We've been thinking about what will be best for Frank while he's here, and how what we're essentially trying to do is prepare him for entering the adult world at the end of the year. His experiences swing from that of a very young child, to those of a much older person." I nodded; this much I already knew.

"Now I'm talking to you as an adult, because you have already shown an interest in helping us, in helping Frank."

Dad sighed, looking more tired than ever. "Next week, Frank will begin meeting with a psychiatrist who is trained in this area. However my gut feeling as a social worker says that the best way to proceed is to have him learn to interact with others of his age, and I'm not convinced that will happen in school."

I couldn't argue there. Dad was dancing nicely around the subject, but he and mom couldn't have failed to notice I had never been invited anywhere. Never brought a friend home, never mentioned anyone. Never bought a mobile phone because there was no point –no one would ever contact me on it.

No, I couldn't help Frank get the high school experience.  
>I nodded, and gestured to dad to continue.<p>

"We were wondering" mum interjected, "How you would feel about inviting Bob or Ray down to stay for a weekend?"

Dad continued "We know its been tough for you to make friends since we moved to New Jersey, and we thought it would not only be nice for you to see them, but also for Frank to meet other young people in a safe environment"

My heart starting beating faster, and I couldn't hide the grin that lit up my face at the thought of seeing my old friends again. I missed having close friends. People who had known me for years, knew my history, had known me through the worst times and still stuck around.

How would I feel? I'd feel over the moon to have my best friends come down motherfuckers!  
>Nodding enthusiastically, I voiced my immediate assent.<p>

"Good then" smiled mum. "You give them a call and see when works for them, and make sure they're okay to get down here."

"I will" I smiled. It felt a bit strange actually. What was even weirder was that I couldn't work out what it was that felt strange...until I suddenly figured it out. I was actually smiling.

How odd.

/

"...and they're so friendly, I've known them for years and you'll really like them" I finished in a rush, practising this whole smiling lark at Frank.

Frank looked less than convinced, but I figured that was natural. He was nervous around strangers, and these ones were going to be invading the one place he had grown used to calling home. But I knew dad was right, and it was important that he learned to interact with others. Not to mention they were the nicest guys I knew.

This was a step in the right diretion, a turn for the better. Now i just needed to persuade Frank of that...

/

/

There you go lovelies, hope you all enjoyed that. Things are a-changing eh? Any thoughts or comments? Let me know with that lovely little review box just below ;)

"I don't miss you I miss the misery!"

Halestorm. Because Lzzy Hale is one sexy motherfucker, yes?

-Hana Belladonna xoxoxo


	18. Our Lady of Sorrows

**Here you are lovies! Back to Frankie again and it's off to the doctor with him! Do enjoy :)**

_**This is for Gee, because in a few weeks I might see her again. I thought I never would. I don't even know how I'm meant to feel anymore.**_

_**/**_

Fpov

I really, really didn't want to meet Gerard's friends.

Really.

It might have been a little easier to deal with had I been able to consider myself a normal example of a teenage boy, who could interact with others his age. But surely it was beyond obvious that I was not capable of this kind of situation. Wasn't it?

Gerard looked so pleased with himself though, like he'd come up with the ultimate solution to my problem, that I couldn't voice my doubts. I didn't want to upset him.

And then it turned out his parents were in on it too, as his mother told me cheerfully over breakfast the next day that she hoped I would like meeting them. Well what was I supposed to say? Oh, you took me in when you didn't have to, fed me, clothed me and sheltered me, but please, I'm going to be difficult now and say I don't want to meet your friends.

Hardly.

Luckily for me, there was a whole new topic sure to distract me from the upcoming gathering. In just a few short days I had an appointment with the hospital, the very hospital who had first looked after me. And now they wanted to examine me.

This problem was difficult enough to occupy me throughout breakfast, the entire walk to school, and through most of the morning. What would I do? What would they find? The last few days had been living in a dream, living in someone else's life. But of course reality had to come along, bite me in the ass and remind me that actually, problems didn't just vanish. The shattered remnants of my old life were like broken glass, lying on the ground where anyone could tread on it. They needed to be swept up and dealt with before they could do anymore damage.

Before anyone could see the truth.

Take me, for example. The self harming scars were obvious, as were the fresh cuts, re opened by my little nail-gouging party the other day. What would the white coats do about that? But I had to let all the black poison blood out, make it stop. Make all the hurting go away. I had to do it.

Or the fact that my throat keeps bleeding from every time I make myself vomit. Would they take issue with that, make me stop? But I couldn't. It was the only way to purge all the poison inside of me. Make myself into something less than nothing, so I could be free.

Oddly enough, I had the funny feeling that the hospital staff wouldn't take too kindly to my reasoning here. And while I might not know much about the outside world, chances were they wouldn't let me go back to the Way family.

Which had, inexplicably, become a bad thing.

So really, I had to come up with a solution.

The rest of the day passed in a bit of a blur. Gerard stayed close by my side through all the lessons, and at lunchtimes and free periods it was just him and me. I was grateful to that, although I felt guilty. Was he ditching his friends so he could spend all his time with me? Or was he just like me, happier alone.

Selfishly, I hoped it was the latter. I didn't want to share him with anyone else. And I didn't even want to think about the implications of that thought.

After the first morning, Gerard made sure I ate. I tried, I really did. There was something about him and his puppy dog eyes, his beautiful features that made you want to do what he said, to make him happy. For the days that followed, apples seemed like a safe way around the problem, satisfying both Gerard and myself to an extent. The only real issue was their crunchiness, shredding my throat even more when I tried to swallow.

I drank lots of water anyway.

It was strange, but I was starting to settle into life here, in a seriously worrying way. It already felt right to wake up in the bunk below Gerard every morning, to attend school and come home to his family. Even classes were interesting. I hadn't realised just how well Doctor Simmons had taught me, until I saw the shock on my music teachers face. And suddenly I was nothing short of grateful for all those hours spent hunched up on one side of that chipped wooden door listening to him. I wished I could thank him.

But then it was all pointless. Eighteen, and then I was gone. And since some nasty twist of fate had led my birthday to fall on Halloween, I really didn't have long to wait. Months? I'd gotten the date seriously wrong stuck in that flat. It was all going to be over in the week.

I remembered how I had felt as I lay in that hospital bed. My silent vow that as soon as they left me alone I would kill myself. Why hadn't I done it yet? Was I still waiting for eighteen? I had told Gerard I was...but his parents, him, even I seemed to have it all wrong. They all thought my birthday was in three months, and so had I. But my birthday was on Halloween, that I had always known. Halloween was just next week! I didn't understand what had happened that I had become so confused with the dates that I thought it was still August when we were halfway into October.

I kept forgetting though, that was the problem. I'd find myself getting caught up in what we would be doing this time next month, or how long I could keep up this pretence that I was eating when none of it mattered. Goddamn, this was never supposed to start feeling like home!

/

The last few days of the week passed fairly quickly, as it always does when you're dreading something. Ray and Bob would be arriving Saturday morning, but first I had to contend with the doctors on Friday night.

I spent all of Friday afternoon in a state bordering on hysteria. I felt for Gerard, as he tried to keep me calm without effect

"Frankie maybe it would help if you told me what exactly you're so worried about" he pleaded with me, as we sat in the empty art room last period, Gerard sketching out a transcription of my upraised hand lying on the table.

"It's nothing" I denied for the umpteenth time, trying to hold my hand still. " I just hate doctors".

"Is it about your eating disorder?" he asked bluntly, looking up from the paper to fix me with a hard stare.

"What? No!" I argued quickly, but I could tell I hadn't convinced him, and I hated it when he acted like this. But the truth was I didn't have a disorder. I was completely in control of it, and really it was the least of my worries. Still, maybe it would pacify him if he thought I was opening up a bit.

"I guess...I'm scared they'll take me away from you" I admitted softly. It wasn't even a lie if I was being honest.

Before I could say another word, Gerard had dropped the sketchbook and wrapped his arms around me tightly. He had recently taken up the habit of hugging me whenever the opportunity presented itself, and it was terrifying how quickly his embraces stopped scaring me. They felt almost...natural. Normal even, like we were real friends, not two people thrown together through some awkward fuck up of fate.

"I won't let them Frankie" Gerard promised, his words muffled against my shoulder. But we both knew it wasn't up to him.

/

Gerard's mother was waiting to leave when I arrived home, her motherly face concerned as she took in my shaking hands and downcast expression. I was trying my hardest to look unconcerned for this upcoming trip, but it just wasn't happening. Still, before we left there were a few thing I needed to do.

"Bathroom" I muttered to them both, before disappearing down the hall. I caught Gerard's horrified expression and raised my eyebrows to myself. Did he honestly think I'd be purging right before my first checkup?

I stood in front of the mirror and took a deep breath. I looked absolutely hideous. If anything, the circles under my eyes were only getting deeper, and my skin was developing an unhealthy greyish tinge. There was nothing I could do about that though. Taking a glass from beside the sink, I ran the tap on lukewarm, and then filled the glass to the brim. I grimaced at my reflection, then raised it to my lips, chugging down the entire contents before I had time to register. Refilling the glass, I repeated the action twice before I felt that my stomach couldn't hold anymore. That should add at least a few pounds on the scales.

Rejoining Gerard and his mother, I avoided both their eyes. His accusing, and hers sympathetic. "Ready to leave?" asked Donna. I nodded quietly, and followed her to the door. It was only when I reached it that I realised Gerard wasn't right behind us.

"Aren't you coming?" I asked uncomfortably.

" Err I didn't think so?" Gerard said, looking questioningly at his mother.

After the long week, there wasn't enough fight in me left to protest loudly. I just looked at him pleadingly, my eyes saying what my lips couldn't.

With a slight smile, Gerard turned to his mother who nodded at him, and then gestured me into the car. We drove in silence which might have been awkward without the radio. Donna turned it to a rock station, and I nodded my head a little to the music as we drove. It was just what I needed to convince myself I was going to get through this.

I found a way!  
>Over the fear and through the flames<br>I'm diving in, don't follow me...  
>Stay right there! I'll be back for you some day<br>I found a way!  
>It would be best if you just stayed<br>It's not safe don't follow me  
>I found a way, I found a way!<p>

"...and that was alkaline trio with 'I found a way'" crackled the radio presenter, and I smirked to myself. I found a way indeed...Gerard Way.

/

When we pulled into the hospital car park I winced automatically, my mind going back to the last time I had been here, barefoot and trembling in hospital pyjamas, prepared for the worst. The only real difference between that time and this was that I had nicer clothes this time.

I really should thanks Gerard's mum again actually, I had been surprised by how willingly she had listened to Gerard when he advised her on the clothes to buy for me, hence my new wardrobe of black skinny jeans, band t-shirts and baggy hoodies. Perfect, dark and grungy just like me. With an old pair of Gerard's converse, I could have been the third Way brother when we were all together.

But I wasn't, and that's why we were here.

We walked quickly through the glass entrance doors to the hospital, and took directions from the receptionist. After that, it was just the waiting room to contend with. My least favourite part...I'd seen far too many of them in my time. The walls always had the same tasteless art, the chairs had the stuffing falling out of them and the magazines never changed.

Luckily it was only five minutes before my name was called, and I stood, then hesitated looking back at Gerard and Donna. They gestured me to go, so I followed the white coated nurse through a maze of corridors until we reached a small room.

When I stepped inside I was instantly fighting for control. The smell, the sharp disinfectant hospital smell was triggering my memories, as was the man sitting in the chair in front of me, looking at some information on his computer screen, It was a repeat of the first day of school all over again, as I wished the ground would swallow me up.

The man looked to be in his late forties, with a balding head and wire rimmed glasses. He was scanning the screen in front of him, and didn't look up when I entered. His desk was covered in sheets of paper, with the occasional family picture in a simple frame. I focused on these, they were simple and easy to understand at least.

"Hello again Frank" said a stern voice, and I jumped, looking up to find the man staring at me. "Please have a seat" he gestured gently, and I gingerly sat down in the chair across from his desk.

Folding his hands, the man looked at me consideringly before introducing himself with a name I promptly forgot. Really, for a man whose very mention had been terrifying me for the past week, this was all rather underwhelming. I sat there awkwardly, digging my nails into my palms forming little half moon crescents, and staring at my knees. The doctor was saying something else, and I quickly tried to catch up with what he had been saying. It was like there was something wrong with my concentration, I just couldn't focus on anything at all.

"So if you could just step behind this curtain, we can get on with things" the doctor concluded, before standing and offering me his hand. Taking it, I got to my feet wondering what I had missed, before he led me behind a narrow partition, where there was a small stretcher bed covered in those disposable sheets of paper doctors use, and various medical instruments.

I gulped. This was the biggest test I had faced yet. I had to convince him I was okay.

"Right, I'll need you to strip down to your underwear so I can weigh you" he said calmly.

I just stared at him. He couldn't be serious, no way.

Misunderstanding my apprehension, he frowned. "Would you like us to bring in a member of your family for support?" He asked.

I shook my head as fast as I could. They didn't need to see worse than they already had, I couldn't do that to them. But letting him see me...? My scars, my fresh cuts, the wasted flesh. Oh god!

Taking a deep breath, I shrugged off my hoodie, unzipped my t-shirt, and then unbuckled my jeans before stepping out of them as they pooled around my ankles. Now I was just standing in a pair of boxers and my socks. I wouldn't take them off, he couldn't make me do that.

The doctor had stepped around the screen to give me some privacy, but now he returned. He stepped around the screen, and barely masked the shock that flitted across his face before professional composure took its place.

I wasn't sure what exactly he was looking at. The skeleton, or the scars. Either way he could fuck off.

"Please step onto the scales Frank" he said softly, walking towards the complicated looking scales in the corner. I obliged, and squeezed my eyes tightly shut. I didn't want to know how much I weighed, knowing I weighed it was bad enough in itself. I could hear the scratching as the doctor took notes, and I winced.

"You can step off now Frank"

"Okay"

"Come over here so I can get your height." He asked, walking across the room to a vertical line, that as I came closer I saw was covered in numbers. A tape measure. I followed and, turned slowly, to put my back to the wall. "Stand up nice and straight" He ordered. I tried to make sure my back was straight and my heels against the wall. No need to go down on record as even more of a midget that I already was. "Five foot four." He mumbled noting it down, and I grimaced. I knew I was small, I didn't need the abundant confirmation!

"Now come stand in the middle over here please" the doctor instructed, walking over to the middle of the room where there was a space outlined on the floor. I walked over to where he was standing, and looked for further instruction. "Bend over, with your back straight and point your arms to the floor" he said calmly. "I'll need to check your spine alignment."

What? There was nothing wrong with my spine, what did he mean?

Deciding it wasn't worth the fight, I did as he asked, shivering as I felt his hands holding a tape measure against me. While everything about this man felt safe and reassuring, I still wasn't used to feeling strangers, or anyone touching me.

"Thank you Frank, now if you put your clothes back on then I have some questions for you."

"Okay"

I was back into my clothes a hundred times faster than I had been out of them, pulling my hoodie over my head by the time the doctor had gone around the partition. Pushing my feet back into the converse, I walked back around with a little more confidence and took a seat in front of the desk. I might have felt a little better if he hadn't looked so grave as he turned to me.

"Frank I need to ask you some questions, and I'm sure you know what they are."

I decided to play dumb. "No sir?"

"Your cuts and scars Frank. When you arrived in hospital last week you were hysterical, we had to sedate you just to keep you safe. Wile the nurses noticed and recorded that you appeared to have a great deal of scarring, it went unattended while there were such large other problems to be investigated. Can I ask how you came to have these?"

I had to consider this for the moment. Truth, or lie?

Buying time, I asked "which ones do you mean?"

"All of them Frank" the doctor stated sharply, raising his eyebrows.

Truth. What could they do? I was killing myself before too long anyway.

"Do you mean self inflicted or those done to me?" I asked flatly, keeping my voice even and level. I had gotten better at this -not one panic attack since I stepped through the door!

The good doctors eyebrows were practically disappearing into his hairline. "I think you need to tell me more" he said warily.

Shrugging, I sighed. I'd already done it once, what did I have to lose? Standing up from the chair I pulled my t-shirt over my head and pointed at a thick scar on my side, jagged and white, it ran across my ribs."She did this one with the kitchen knife, then stitched it up later when she thought I might bleed to death"

The scar on my chest. "He slammed a door on me, trying to break my ribs. It didn't work, but there was a nail in the door."

A double crescent across my shoulder, deep purple. "She bit me."

All across my back, deep reddish welts. "His belt. The buckle was metal, and quite heavy."

All over my stomach. "More knives. She liked them."

My arms, covered in finer marks. Purple, red, silver and white. "This was me. Razor blades, broken glass, scissors, knives, fingernails, teeth."

White little circles mixed in with the other scars on my arms. "Cigarette burns. That was me too."

I pulled my t-shirt back on, and sat back down slowly. Only then did I dare to look up at the doctor. He was struggling to retain his professional composure, but his face was utterly thunderstruck. I felt bad for telling him all that, he didn't need to know the detail. Suddenly, I wished more than anything that Gerard was next to me, to take my hand like he did whenever he sensed something was wrong. No-one helped more than he did.

"So yeah..." I mumbled awkwardly.

Clearly getting a grip on himself, the doctor nodded slowly at me, remembering his role as a medical practitioner alone. "Has any care been given to your cuts, especially the new ones?" He asked. I shook my head, no.

"Okay then, I'm going to write you a prescription for some cream that should help reduce scarring and bring down any infection in the cuts that are still open. I will talk to your guardians later about speaking with a counsellor too."

"Now, the other important thing to cover. You are several underweight, your current BMI I would take a guess at being around 13. The optimum level is around 20, 18 is underweight so you need to see this is fairly serious."

I was sitting in silence. I didn't really see a need for me to join in with the conversation, he was doing a perfectly good job by himself.

"What was your diet like before you moved to your current home? This is a severe case of malnutrition, you have to see."

"Um. I didn't eat. There wasn't any food."

"You were living alone?"

"Yeah"

"Then why didn't you buy some? The council should have been giving you an allowance."

"I did...but then I didn't want to leave. So I didn't. I ran out of food. I didn't bother buying more. And then they took me away anyway."

"Okay Frank" the doctor sighed. "I think I begin to see."

"Tell me, how are you eating now?"

"Um, fine" I muttered quickly.

"Okay. Well I'll speak to your foster mother about what you need to be eating to build up your health. Are you experiencing any of the following, headaches, dizziness, poor memory, poor concentration, tiredness and the like?"

I nodded briefly. "A few". Like, all of them.

"This is why."

Well, okay then.

"Now if you're ready to leave, I'd like to have a conversation with your foster mother and then you're free to go" he said, standing up and leading the way towards the door. Holding it open for me, he follows me through and then led me back to the waiting room where Gerard and his mother still sat. I had to bite back a smile at the disgruntled look on Gerard's face as he flicked through a magazine slowly, slouched in his chair.

"Mrs Way, if I could have a moment?" The doctor said, alerting them both to our return. "Of course" Gerard's mother nodded, and turned to us. "Just wait here, boys, we won't be long" she said before following the doctor.

I sighed, and moved over to sit by Gerard. "Frank!" He exclaimed as soon as his mother was out of earshot. "I was so worried! How was it? Are you okay?" He asked looking me up and down as though he expected to see a discernible difference. I tried to smile weakly, but it was a poor attempt and I gave up, my bottom lip trembling as the reality of what I had just allowed myself to relive came flooding back to me.

"Oh Frankie!" Gerard said, looking at me with those huge hazel eyes of his. I just knew he understood. Before I could move, he pulled me against him, his arm around my shoulders, keeping me comfortingly tucked away from the world.

I stifled a sob, and let a single tear fall down my face.

Just one.

Just because it was Gerard.

/

/

**Hope you all enjoyed that! Poor Frankie! Argh why did I make him so sad?**

**Now, I have a problem, and I need assistance.**

**I run a page celebrating Frerard on Facebook. A few days ago, an older member of the Mcrmy private messaged me, telling me that she believed the reason Mike Pedicone had been fired was because he stole a mobile phone, which contained pictures that showed evidence of Frerard. She then sent me a picture, which is DISTINCTLY frank, giving someone a blow job, and its not photoshopped -i checked thoroughly.**

**My entire page is dedicated to finding proof of Frerard and cataloging it, but now I have definite proof (of Frank at least, you can't tell if the other person is Gerard) what do I do? I just feel that it would be absolutely wrong to put the pictures on my page for everyone to see. A complete invasion of privacy. But still, proof after all these years of looking for it!**

**You see my problem?**

**Any advice?**

**/**

**"Every hour, on the hour they drew blood"**

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	19. Mirror Isnt Big Enough For Two of You

**Daaaamn this took forever to write! Had compete writers block up until the last section. It was really weird actually. I was sitting there, no idea what to write when a guy I used to know months ago who I had a huge fight with, suddenly texted me saying even though we would never speak again, he was sorry, he forgave me, and he hoped I would have a good life after all. And bam! Inspiration!**

**Anyway. Enjoy.**

_**I've stopped replying to Gee, I just don't think I can bear her treating me like nothing again. Maybe I will break, but for now I am trying. And she is, after all, hundreds of miles away now.**_

/

/

/

Gpov

Frank didn't know this, but I hated waiting rooms about as much as I could see he did. There was a row of blue chairs with their stuffing falling out all along one wall, and sitting right at the end, my mother and me, trying to distract ourselves. Mother was eyeing the tasteless art on the walls with a critical, indignant eye which made me smile to myself. Across from us was a brightly coloured abstract canvas, and various other pieces scattered around which looked so childlike I would have bet they had been done by the doctors children. There was a square wooden coffee table placed awkwardly in the very centre of the room, with a toppling pile of garish magazines with bright covers sitting on it. In a desperate bid to keep my mind off things, I pulled a magazine towards me and began to flick through it. It wasn't working though, because I really didn't give a flying fuck who was cheating on who with who.

Frank had been gone for half an hour and I didn't like it. He hadn't told me how terrified he was about this trip -he didn't have to, it was in his every move. I really didn't know how to think. On the one hand, I desperately wanted him to get better so things could settle down and he could become the person I just knew was buried underneath all the pain and loss. But on the other hand, I understood what it felt like when hurting yourself was the only way the escape the inside of your mind.

Suddenly there was the sound of a door opening, and I turned to the left to see Frank slinking through the doorway.

A soon as he walked out of that doorway I knew whatever had happened in the doctors office hadn't been good. His shoulders had a defeated slump to them, and his eyes were dead and vacant, like the first time I saw him. My mothers eyes followed him worriedly from where she sat beside me, her face a mirror image of mine.

A white coated man followed behind him, holding a clipboard in his hands as he propped the door open with his foot. He looked to be around fifty, balding and stout but his face was kind. Still, a white coat? I suppressed a sigh at their idiocy. What in gods name possessed them to think that it was a good idea to wear full hospital dress around the poor boy. Had they never heard of PTSD, and ways to avoid triggering it? The man looked as concerned as us, his ageing face somehow weary as he gazed past Frank, his eyes alighting on my mother.

"Mrs Way?" He asked unnecessarily. At my mothers confirmation, he nodded his greying head and asked if "you would come with me please? Just a few details to cover."

My mother nodded briskly and got to her feet, gathering her handbag up and following the man through the door -shooting me a warning look as she did so, the quick flick of her eyes towards Frank letting me know she thought I needed to step in. I hated that, the unspoken assumption that I would be the one the

While I could hear the warning in the doctors voice as he spoke to my mother and it worried me, the greater part of my attention was focused on Frank. He hovered in front of the doorway looking lost and defeated, staring blankly at his feet in a way I had grown used to but wished I hadn't. I was about to move towards him when he seemed to snap himself out of it somewhat, gave a sigh and slumped down in the seat next to me.

"Frank!" I couldn't help exclaiming. "I was so worried, are you okay?"  
>I tried to halt the speed in which the words flowed from my mouth but I really had been worried about him.<p>

He opened his mouth as if to answer, but his lip was trembling and him eyes suddenly began to fill. I pulled him towards me and wrapped my arms around him, not caring where we were, as I felt him stifle a sob against my shoulder.

"It's too much Gerard" he whispered. "I can't, I can't..."  
>"I know" I murmured back, and I did.<p>

/

Later that evening I wondered if it had been the right choice to keep quiet about what I knew the real source of Frank's starvation to be. The doctors, my mother and everyone appeared to believe this had occurred simply because he couldn't buy food -not because he wouldn't have wanted to anyway.

I didn't know why I still kept that information to myself. After this afternoon, my parents had to know about the cutting. Although my mother hadn't discussed it yet, I could tell it was coming. But the starving? The vomiting? BThere was something too personal about that, something so private that I felt like a peeping Tom for even grasping a vague idea of this inner turmoil. Cutting was one thing, a way to release pain and stress and put the inner feelings on a physical plane that could be dealt with. But bulimia? Anorexia? I didn't know anything about them, but it only took a tiny amount of logic to begin to understand the reasoning. There was something immensely self loathing about wanting to waste yourself away into nothing. It was the sort of thing that you only did when you really and truly despised every inch of your body and soul, and wished you could die.

I looked across to my bed, unmade and rumpled as usual, with Frank sitting cross-legged in the corner, my guitar on his lap. This was already becoming something familiar to us, like a little routine we had in the evening. I made my art, and Frank made his music. It was hard to look at him and realise he felt that way, because his face hid so well what his body revealed. The melody he was plucking from the strings sounded vaguely Spanish to me, and he was using all four fingers to coax the sound from the instrument as he bent his head over the guitar. His fingers, so small and thin in stillness seemed long and fluid in motion, as they gently moved like a spider over the strings. Frank may have the heart of a guitarist, but he had pianist fingers.

I began to wonder if I should invest in an acoustic guitar as well, watching him span the frets with such ease.

As I watched him with the guitar, something clicked into place for me. I had been thinking idly now much I wished I could play as well, so we could play together. After the argument I had with Alicia in the music rooms earlier in the week, I had stormed out and seen him as he sat, playing with Mikey. Something changes when you make music with other people, putting the different parts together to forms cohesive whole. It's like sex, but better. The joining of bodies as you coax the motion from your hands onto the fretboard, the minds as you strive together to play perfectly in time, and the souls as you feel the music rushing through you.

Yes, making music was just as good as sex.

Not that I would know.

I blushed lightly as I looked at Frank thinking that, and forced away the connotations. I wasn't going to deny that Frank was a beautiful, beautiful boy, and if we had met in another life, I would have fallen for him faster than I could take a breath. But in order to save him I couldn't allow these thoughts to blossom, or even fully register. He was too broken, and for once in my life I was not going to be selfish. I would be the friend he needed, anything else I could block out, for his sake. But sometimes I wondered if I could really succeed. He was just so unbearably broken on the inside, how could someone like me really help him

But watching him make music...I was thinking about Ray. I had called up Bob and Ray earlier in the week, and while they were surprised to hear from me, both of them readily agreed to a trip down to Belleville. I had thought that this weekend would be far too short notice, but to my surprise they were both keen, Ray adding that "there's nothing to do here now you're gone dude!"

I had asked Ray to bring his guitar, because I just had a feeling...when he met Frank, something would click. Or maybe I was just a dreamer, but either way it would be good for Frank to meet other musicians.

Ray wasn't just a guitarist, he was the best I had ever known. For as long as I could remember he had been playing on any six stringed instrument he could get his hands on. I had no idea when he had been given his first guitar. Although the two of us had met in seventh grade, he had already been fully proficient by then.

The first summer Bob, Ray, H and I had all been friends we spent most of it at Ray's. Hanging in his parents living room to avoid the heat of the scorching sun, Bob, H and I would sprawl out on either end of the shabby, faded sofa, watching daytime television or playing video games -although my sketchbook was never far from my hand, and Ray's mom never stopped complaining that I got pencil shavings all over the carpet.

Ray would be in the big armchair in the corner, trailing a lead over the arm of the chair to his amp, which squatted heavily on the carpet in front of him, his feet resting on it. His guitar, a Gibson which he borrowed then eventually bought off his older brother, was always in his lap whether he was playing or not. It was just there, as much a part of him as his fro.

Bob and I would tease him about it sometimes, but Bob never joined in as much as me, considering we never saw him without a set of drumsticks in the back pocket of his skinny jeans. H just laughed; he was always quieter than the rest of us.

I smiled in spite of myself as I remembered. Early high school hadn't been quite so bad with the three of them. I mean, nothing was ever going to get rid of the jocks, or change their attitudes towards us. But there had been safety in numbers, and none of us got beaten up as much while we were together.

Moving had been a real wrench to be honest. I didn't mind Belleville (well, maybe I hated it just a little) but we had left so much behind.

Still. It had been years.

Three years.

Bob and Ray would be arriving the following afternoon, but knowing the pair as I did I took afternoon to mean 'late evening to midnight'. That is, if Ray's questionable driving skills could get them there at all. I hadn't seen yet what kind of car he had managed to get on his part-time music shop assistant salary, but whatever it was it wasn't going to be good.

I hoped there was no one on the motorway tomorrow.

"Frank" I said carefully, thinking I needed to broach the subject with him a little more before they arrived.

Frank was still curled up in the bottom bunk with my guitar, his eyes dreamy and unfocused as he fiddled with the strings idly.

Frank looked up from his seat on my bed with the blank look people get when you distract them from something they're really focused on. My Jackson slipped out of his arms slightly, heading towards the floor and he quickly grabbed one end of the Flying V edge to stop it from falling, looking appalled at himself.

I sighed. It was going to take time to change things, I had to remind myself. But how long would it be before he stopped flinching at every little motion, acting like he was going to be punished for every little accident.

"Frank" I tried again. "I was wondering how you were feeling about tomorrow?"

When he realise I wasn't going to shout at him for almost dropping the guitar his whole body relaxed, and he carefully set the guitar upright against the bed.

"I don't know" he admitted, looking at his hands. "I don't know them. They won't like me."

I almost groaned at this. Were we here again? "Frank!" I said a touch more sharply this time. "You need to realise, people are not predisposed to hate you! Most people will, in fact, like you."

"That's not true" he whispered softly. It seemed that the louder I got, the quieter he grew in response.

"Why not" I demanded.

Frank looked up silently, and I was shocked to see his eyes filling with tears at the confrontation. How could he be crying at that? All I had said was that people liked him.

Frank didn't make another response, just shook his head and turned away. I sighed, stood up from my desk and left the room. Maybe I had been a little harsh on him, but christ I wasn't a saint! I was a teenager, just like him. How was I supposed to help him? It was probably at this moment that I realised I couldn't do it alone.

I was scared. In the last week, Frank had come to mean more to me than wanted to admit, more than I could fully verbalise and it was looking like I was going to lose him. How could I keep going this way? I knew things would get worse if we involved my parents though. After all, they hadn't given a shit about me when I needed them most either.

I hadn't walked upstairs with any particular location in mind, but as I walked aimlessly down the hallway I saw the light on under the door in Mikey's room up ahead; a shaft of light in the pitch black stillness of the rest of the house. I automatically gravitated in that direction, hoping to god he didn't have Alicia in there with him.

Knocking softly on his door, I waited for the surprised "come in?" before I opening it and sidling through. Mikey was lying stretched out across his rumpled bed, a laptop balanced precariously on his chest. His headphones hung around his neck where he had clearly just pulled them to. He was obviously surprised to see me, as he started and began try and sit up. To distract myself from the awkwardness I looked quickly around his room for something else to focus on.

It had been a few weeks since I had been in here actually. I felt slightly remorseful. Since we moved here, Mikey had been my only friend for so long, and I was used to the chaos and clutter of his room, the cd's spilling off his desk, the advanced sound system in the corner he saved up for three years to buy. The stacks of comics, the books, the bass, the amp and the clothes EVERYWHERE. It was something familiar to me, something unchanged amidst the confusion of Franks arrival. And that was why I felt so guilty. I didn't know what Mikey had against Frank, but there was no denying I had completely neglected my own brother this past week or so.

Mikey cleared his throat pointedly, his eyes asking what I was standing in the middle of his room staring around hopelessly for. I grimaced, and leaned back against his desk, bringing my eyes back to my brother.

"Hey Mikes, how's it going?" I tried.

Mikey sighed, then a grin reluctantly chased itself across his face.

"Alright. You?"

"Mhmmmm" I said noncommitedly. Now I was here, I wasn't exactly sure what I had been looking for.

I was just about to leave when Mikey sighed again, but this time with purpose. He twisted around and pulled himself to one side of the bed, gesturing me to sit down.

"So." He stated. "What's wrong?"

"What?" I said. "Why does something have to be wrong for me to come see you?"

Mikey just looked at me for a long moment, then reminded me. "I'm your brother. Now, what's wrong?"

I sat gingerly down on the edge of the bed. I didn't really know what to say, I had been feeling antsy all week, I had been growing increasingly irritable and now I was finding myself angry with Frank just because he was damaged, and reacted to things I said. Why couldn't I just be more caring, considerate and compassionate? I didn't know why I even bothered. It was useless, I was completely the wrong person to try and help him, why did I even bother?

I hadn't thought I would be ale to even think that coherently, much less speak it but suddenly it all poured out. All my feelings for him, my fear that we were going to lose him, how I tried and tried to get through to him and I felt so useless.

It just came out my mouth in this stream of words as I babbled to Mikey everything that was going through my head. By the end I had tears in my eyes which I angrily wiped away. Mikey surprised me then. We had never been the most physically affectionate of siblings, in spite of our closeness, but suddenly Mikey stood up and pulled me into his scrawny arms for a hug. I resisted for a moment, fighting against the unfamiliar sensation, but Mikey held me tighter and I collapsed against his chest with a sob of relief. Part of me was humiliated to be clinging on to my younger brother in this way, burdening him with my problems when it should be the other way around. But the bigger part of me was filled with blessed, blessed relief that someone was there to look after me for a brief moment. I had been trying so hard to look after Frank that I had just exhausted myself.

When my sobs turned to sniffles, and eventually the odd gulp, Mikey let me go, and sat back down on the bed. Not needing to be asked this time, I sat down across from him, wiping my eyes. I was slightly embarrassed, but I felt better. Crying was cathartic.

"You know Gee, maybe you need to stop taking so much on yourself" Mikey said eventually.

"What else am I supposed to do?" I said, my voice coming out higher pitched than usual and rough from the crying. "It's not like you're willing to do a thing."

Mikey looked very sad, and spoke quietly. "Do you remember when H died?"

Did I fucking remember it? As if I could ever forget it.

"Yes." I said shortly.

"No, really, do you remember?"

I closed my eyes.

It had been a long, boring Saturday afternoon in late november. There was frost on the window panes, and ice on the puddles, but the sky had retained the same grey pallor for days. Mom and Dad had gone out for one of the long walks they used to take in those days, strolling through the local park mittened hand in hand like teenagers. Mikey had been upstairs. I still remembered the way I had been able to hear his bass pounding through the ceiling, and how I had yelled at him to turn his amp down. I was in the living room, sketchpad in front of me like ever. This wasn't too long after the incident with my band, and I was still sore about it all. I didn't leave the house often, except when Bob, Ray and H showed up and dragged me.

I was surprised nobody had been around that day actually. Things had been a little awkward between H and I ever since he confessed his feelings for me, but I had hoped it wouldn't have a lasting effect on our friendship. I was just thinking about calling him or the others, when I heard the keys turn in the front door, and realised my parents were back. As they banged the door shut I quickly shut off the television that was turned onto a music channel in front of me -mom didn't approve of daytime tv -and picked up my pencil again, stretching my legs out in front of me. What can I say? I was fourteen, and I was lazy.

I heard them come through the front door, and take off their coats, and then my mom pick up the phone that was flashing a new voicemail.

I didn't see her face when she got the message.

I was still in the chair in the living room, thinking about whether or not I should go call my friend.

But I could imagine it.

I could imagine the way all the blood drained from her face, leaving her sickly pale and stunned. I could imagine the way she gripped the receiver until it cracked as she held it to her ear, listening to one of her oldest friends tell her that her son was dead. That he had committed suicide. That she thought my mother ought to know. To tell me.

In my mind I can see her swaying, sagging against the wall in disbelief. I see my father rushing towards her, catching her and shouting into her face over and over. "Donna! Donna! What is it? Who was that?"

I see my father taking the phone from her, pressing the listen button, listening to the message himself. I see him turning as white as her, letting the reliever slip through his fingers to the floor. I see him stand, as though in a trance, and walk into the living room as though he had aged ten years in the space of a single phone call.

When he stepped into the room to tell me I knew something was so wrong. Father sat down heavily in the chair across from me, the lines in his face scoring deeply, his eyes tortured.

"Gerard" he said heavily.

"I need to tell you something about your friend H"

/

I raised my head to look at Mikey. Yes, I remember everything.

I relayed it to Mikey, my voice cracking with the strain of reminding myself of the worst day of my life.

This wasn't like Alicia, prying into my life. Alicia might have been with Mikey for years, but she wasn't my blood relative and that didn't give her a right to talk about it. She had never met H, she had only come into the family after we had moved to Belleville. But Mikey had been there through it all. My little brother, the only one who had been there to comfort me.

When I was fourteen, I shut myself off from the world. Bob and Ray were so surprised to hear from me this weekend, simply because we hadn't spoken in so long. My best friend died, and it was my fault. Suddenly I didn't want to be close to anyone.

My parents couldn't understand. How was I supposed to tell them that the reason it was my fault was because he loved me? They had never been gay-friendly, it would ruin his memory and they would never let me think of him the same way again. I cut them out too. No, Mikey had been the only one. One the darkest nights in the cold winter that followed that terrible day, Mikey was the one who came downstairs in the middle of the night, to crawl into bed beside me. This twelve year old, wrapping his older brother tightly in his arms. He took my razor blades when he found them, he tried to stop me drinking, and occasionally he even managed to drag me out of bed to face the day.

When our parents decided we needed to move, I had to face the world again. But only to pack, and climb into that car beside Mikey. The whole journey I kept my eyes closed, and we shared a Walkman, listening to the Smashing Pumpkins over and over.

Things were different when we got there. I was given the basement as a bedroom, and I could lock myself away better than ever. Mikey found Alicia, and suddenly his time was all taken. I didn't go to find him that often anymore. He came to me though, making sure I went to school, trying to limit my self-destruction. But still, I had been living in an empty ruin of a life, with absolutely nothing and no hope.

Mikey brought me back to the present with soft words. "What about the note Gerard? You remember that too?"

Yes, I remembered the funeral. Black everywhere. Trying to avoid Bob and Ray. Watching H's mother breaking down with grief, wishing I wasn't there. And then the moment after the service, when she tottered up to me, her face twisted with agony, and she handed me the note. Her face pointedly blaming me for everything.

Because it was my fault.

I didn't realise I'd said it out loud until Mikey jumped up next to me. "Exactly!" he exclaimed.

"What?" I asked, confused. I was still reeling from reliving the memories, unable to focus.

Mikey crawled across the bed until he was sitting right in front of me. "Gerard, maybe I'm wrong...but it always seemed to us like you blamed yourself for what happened to H."

Usually I would have been screaming at him by this point, but I was too exhausted. "Yes Mikey, of course I do" I said quietly, my voice devoid of emotion.

"That's what Alicia was trying to say the other day" Mikey said.

I looked at him blankly, too tired to fill in the gaps.

"How can you help Frank when you're just seeing him as your second chance?"

"What do you mean? Just because I want to help him..."

"No you don't, you want to help H. But you couldn't, so you're trying to save Frank instead"

I shook my head. Mikey was wrong, I wasn't getting the two mixed up on some ridiculous psychological bullshit in my head.

Mikey tried again. "Look at it this way Gerard. How can you help Frank when you're so terrified of doing anything wrong again?"

That hit a chord, and I winced. "But I thought helping Frank was the right thing to do" I said softly.

"It is" Mikey stressed. "But the reason you're here now is because you're trying too hard. Look at you, you're exhausted."

I could feel the truth of that down to my bones. I sighed, and nodded.

"Frank isn't H, Gerard. Help him for who he is, not for the one that you couldn't save. And H wasn't your fault."

I couldn't believe that one, I knew with complete certainty that H just WAS my fault. But Mikey understood. His words were soothing, making me feel like I didn't have to shoulder this enormous burden alone.

I nodded again, silently thanking Mikey with my eyes, then I leaned across to give him another hug. I left the room feeling a thousand times lighter than when. I had walked in. It was like I could understand suddenly, that I had to see Frank as a person separate to the sum of my mistakes.

I walked back downstairs, and hesitated in front of the basement door. Then I laughed to myself, and wondered what I was afraid of. When I walked in, Frank was lying on his side, curled up fast asleep. The guitar was lying next to the bed where he had clearly placed it to rest. I had wanted to speak to Frank again, to tell him I was sorry for storming off, but now he was asleep.

Slightly annoyed in spite of myself, I pulled off my jeans, and when I was about to climb into bed, I noticed the way Frank was moving slightly. His eyelids were fluttering as his eyeballs rolled around underneath them, clearly following the path of some dream, and little mutters were coming from his mouth. Even I sleep his face looked drawn, frightened.

I remembered all the nights I had woken up screaming, after H died, certain I would see him dangling right above my face like a grotesque mannequin. And how Mikey had come downstairs and wrapped himself around me, his presence and warmth soothing me back into sleep.

Making a split decision, I kept my t shirt and briefs on, and slid silently into the narrow bottom bunk next to Frank. There was hardly any room, and I was shocked at how cold his tiny body was. Ignoring the chill that shivered up my spine, I slipped my arm under his waist as subtly as I could, and pulled him towards me until I was spooning him, trying to warm him with my own body heat.

I closed my eyes, and felt the boy in my arms stir slightly, before cuddling closer to me still lost in the depths of a dream.

I let myself forget.

/

/

**So my lovelies, muchos questions answered yes? I hope everyone understands why Alicia and Mikey have been acting so unpleasant recently, and I hope it wasn't too long winded!**

**Bob and and Ray should be in the next chapter. They were meant to be in this one, but events took themselves out of my hands!**

_**"Take the ashes from the floor, bury them to just make sure. That nothing more is left of me...just bittersweet memories"**_

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	20. Boy Division

**Here it is my darlings, sorry it's a little bit short but this chapter really just wasn't happening, you know how it gets sometime? So I left it here, and I hope it's okay!**

_**This chapter is for everyone who, like me, decides enough is enough and it's time to create a life again. My Gee called me, to ask why I was not speaking to her, why I had blocked her. I told her the truth -enough is enough. There is a distinct difference between a passionate relationship, and emotional abuse. I wasn't going to fool myself it was the former anymore. **_

_**I told her to never come back. It was exactly one year and one week to the day she first kissed me. That night, I played my first show alone. I stood up there in front of people, whose faces I couldn't see under the bright lights. Me and my guitar and my voice, singing My Immortal. **_

_**I had never played a solo show before. I was afraid. But I said goodbye.**_

/

/

/

FPOV

I had fallen asleep after Gerard stormed out, my eyes still sore and the tear tracks forming a light crust on my cheeks. I was just waiting for the nightmares to begin.

I had thought I would be lying awake for hours, in awkward silence trying to slow my breathing enough that he would assume I was sleeping and wouldn't try and talk to me. I really didn't feel like talking to him at that moment in time. Besides, I didn't know if I could bear another night of the dreams when I knew he wouldn't be there to wake me, or that he would ignore me. Gerard had clearly had enough, and I could hardly blame him -I was beyond stunned he had lasted this far.

I closed my eyes, and willed the world away, waiting for the horror film to start playing out behind my eyes.

The next thing I was awake. Staring straight up at the underside of Gerard's bunk above me, watching the autumn morning light filter under the door. I had slept without the nightmares. Without dreaming OR screaming.

I couldn't believe it had happened.

And...I was so warm.

I shouldn't be warm.

Waking up was usually an ordeal for me, as no matter how many blankets I piled on I still shivered my way through the night. It was like I could never escape a chill up my spine, legacy of the hundreds of nights spent curled up under a ragged sheet on my narrow cot bed in that flat, where the heating had vanished when the power was turned off years ago. They had taken all the blankets and coverings when they left, except a few sheets and the clothes I had on my back.

Why was I warm?

A few mornings ago, the day after I had the worst dream of all, I had woken up alone in Gerard's bed. But I was alone when I woke up that time, so I assumed Gerard must have put me there and then gone to sleep somewhere else, as my bed was still sodden and reeking from pissing myself. By the time I woke, Gerard was already wandering around getting dressed, and I had been too embarrassed to ask him about our sleeping arrangements.

I moved to roll over slightly, and then realised what was making me so hot. The lump underneath me I had assumed was a pillow was actually Gerard's arm, trapped under my torso. I had rolled right into a hard, firm chest blocking my way, and an arm draped over me, holding me loosely. The boy himself was lying next to me, snoring lightly with his face turned towards me. His eyes were still closed, and I could see the delicate lattice of veins forming a lavender film over his eyelids.

I could only wonder what on earth he was doing here. After last night I had thought he would never have wanted to speak to me again, thought his disgust had finally really kicked in, and he was gone. I kept watching, fascinated. I hadn't seen many people sleep in my life -they had always locked me in my room. I hadn't realised that it was possible for a person to look so calm. I couldn't believe the way he had his arms wrapped around me..anything could happen to him when his guard was down like this!

I didn't want to make him angry by waking him up, so I stayed quiet in his arms. It was so warm, and felt so strangely safe, even though he was asleep. Our lower bodies were twisted away from each other, so he was almost stretched across the bed to hold me. Gerard's breathing was slow and steady, but I heard the moment when it changed slightly, and I realised he was beginning to wake up. Call me a coward, but I pretended to be asleep. After the confrontation last night, I was too shy to face him, too scared of what he might say.

Gerard stirred a little, and a little mutter fell from his lips. I tried not to giggle from nervousness, and kept my breaths slow. The arm underneath me began to move gradually, as Gerard extricated himself from me. I felt the bed move, and the warmth slowly began to leave as Gerard sat up, pulling the blanket half off me.

"Frankie?" He whispered.

I wanted to respond, I really did but I felt like I was frozen.

Next moment, I felt a slight pressure, a sudden warmth on my cheek that lasted for a fraction of a second, before it vanished, and I felt rather than saw Gerard slide out of bed, and slowly pad out of the door. I was left lying there wondering...did Gerard just kiss my cheek? I couldn't stop the blush that spread, although no-one was there to witness it. Just me, in the bed, clutching the memory of his lips to myself.

/

I got out of bed a few minutes later, unable to stay still anymore. As I swung my legs over the edge, and pulled myself to my feet, my head went all fuzzy and I swayed slightly. This was happening more and more often in the mornings; I was having trouble keeping my balance, like all the blood was going to my head too quickly. I was thinking about school, wondering how things were going to go that day when I suddenly noticed the time on Gerard's alarm clock, and realised with a sudden jolt that it was Saturday. The day of Bob and Ray's visit.

I showered quickly, washing away the remains of the tears still evidenced on my cheeks, and went back downstairs to get dressed. Gerard was nowhere in sight, but in the mornings he was usually to be found slumped over the kitchen bench, his hair tousled and his eyes bloodshot, cradling a cup of coffee tenderly in both hands.

Sure enough, when I went upstairs a little unsteadily, there he was in the kitchen. Barefoot, in a pair of ragged jeans and an oversized t-shirt, he nursed his morning caffeine shot in one hand, and gestured me with the other towards a small plate of sliced apple, and a glass of orange juice which rested on the bench next to him.

I sighed unhappily, and wandered unwillingly towards my breakfast.

It hadn't taken Gerard's mom long to come after me about the doctors. I had been expecting it, resigned to it happening, but that didn't mean I was any more keen to watch it occur, or have to answer those questions. I spent as much of the morning as I could sticking close to Gerard's side, shadowing him as much as I could but it was always a hopeless proposition.

It was just before lunchtime when Gerard's mother caught up with me, coming downstairs to the basement where Gerard and I were playing a board game, to call me upstairs. I followed after her slowly, feeling like I was on a funeral march as I stepped up the stairs behind her. We walked through the house to the living room, where I received my second shock of the day. When I walked in, Gerard's father was there as well.

Oh...shit.

"Frank" Donald said in a friendly voice, from his seat in the armchair. "Please have a seat, we just wanted to have a little chat with you"

I looked around warily, at this room which gone from a safe haven to suddenly menacing prospect, before moving jerkily over the the sofa and sitting down. Donna followed next to me.

I fixed my eyes on the ceiling, on a spot above all of their heads -I didn't want to have to participate in this until absolutely necessary. Why was this necessary?

"Frank" Donna continued in a calmer voice. "I'm sure you know what the doctor told me yesterday, and I'm sure you can see what the problem is here. I think you need to tell us a lot more about what happened to you before you came here."

My eyes flashed up to hers incredulously. "If the doctor told you yesterday I don't see what you need to know from me" I countered.

I wasn't stupid, I knew where they were coming from. What they had done to me was illegal, but the Way's didn't understand! I deserved it, it was necessary. They had only been punishing me for all the terrible things I had done. I had murdered my entire family, it didn't matter what had happened, I'd could never deny that fact. I had killed them, and I deserved every punishment they gave me.

My whole childhood after everything went wrong, had been filled with these people. Rio, my aunt, had had friends in very low places. The tiny little flat had been filled with the comings and goings of people who terrified me. Adult men, whose unshaven faces would leer down at me where I would be huddled in the corner, their mauve rubbery lips stretching over stained teeth, their hands grasping. She never let them hurt me though, she kept me safe from them. I was hers alone.

There would be secret cash deals in the middle of the night, and often I would wake up to someone passed out in the main room, the stench of vomit pervading the air and another bloodstain decorating the floor.

I was life, I was used to it. I wasn't scared of them, I knew they wouldn't hurt me. But I also knew that if Rio and my uncle wanted to disappear, it would be all too easy for them -and they had done exactly that when they left. No matter what I said, the police would never find them, and even if they did I could never give evidence, so the most they would ever be charged on is abandonment. It really wasn't worth it.

I turned back to Donna with a sigh. I had covered all this very quickly in my head while she was talking to me about how they wanted to keep me safe and I needed to tell her everything that had happened. "Mrs Way, can I please be completely honest with you?" I asked shakily. I wasn't used to contradicting adults.

"Of course."

"The people that did all this are gone now. They left me a long time ago, with no sign they were ever going to come back. It doesn't matter what happened, because its over. I told the doctor because he needed to know, but nothing more. If anyone looks for those people, no matter what I say no-one will ever find them. I like living with you, it feels safe. Please, just let the past lie or I can never escape it."

I was lying through my teeth. I could never escape the past, whether they let it lie or not. And I would never be safe, because I could never escape myself either.

Donna didn't look convinced. "Frank, what about the self harming cuts? The doctor said some of those were fresh."

I grimaced. What was I supposed to say to that? She was right. I cast my eyes downwards and pretended I hadn't heard the question.

It was Donald who spoke up next, and I flinched slightly at his deep voice. Men's voices still frightened me a little.

"Frank, we mostly wanted to talk to you to let you know what was going to be happening. I'm sorry if you don't feel that this is necessary, but we have assigned you a therapist who you will begin regular meetings with." His voice going softer, he continued. "What you experienced was terrible, and anyone would have trouble moving past it. You need to understand it wasn't your fault, and we are here for you. Hurting yourself is not the solution."

This was harder to ignore, but I did my best. They just didn't understand why I needed to ...but I needed to. It was the only thing holding me together enough to survive the next week, until I could finally let it all go, and stop causing the Way family so many problems.

Deciding to act neutral, I nodded slowly, still keeping my eyes down.

I didn't know what else to say really, they had clearly made their mind up about what was going to happen. All I could do was remind myself it was only a week I had left. One week of life, I could handle that.

I had been hoping this would be the end of the discussion, but Donna clearly wasn't finished. "Another thing the doctor mentioned is you are very malnourished" she continued. She pulled out a folder containing god knows what, and appeared to read aloud. "...severe malnutrition, severe electrolyte imbalance, irregular heart beat, pulse below 45 beats per minute and low temperature." Looking up at me, she frowned sadly before explaining.

"What this means is that the diet you have been following for the past several years has not involved enough protein, carbohydrates, fat and sugar. This is why you are underweight, and also why you feel the cold more, and probably experience headaches and muscle fatigue."

It all sounded familiar, except for the cause. But no-one knew about that except Gerard, and he had promised he wouldn't tell anyone. I didn't want to trust him, or anyone, but I had no choice. He had promised, and that would have to be good enough for the moment.

"Mrs Way" I cut in. "I don't really understand what most of this means. What's going to happen now?"

I shifted my weight nervously, feelings the springs from the sofa digging in, not comfortable with interrupting.

Donna looked at me quickly, before skipping a few pages ahead in the folder.

"Your doctor has set you a specific diet plan to follow, which should have you putting on more weight quickly"

I couldn't hide the horror that washed across my face. Were they really trying to make me even uglier than I already was? Gerard's parents didn't say anything, but I could see them watching me closely as I reacted. I smoothed my features out as quickly as I could, and nodded. I could handle this, I could.

I was about to try and leave, when Donna spoke up again. "Frank although what we're telling of you are methods out in place to help you get better, we also want you to know that this isn't the only avenue. You also have us. We wanted you to know you can tell us anything, ask us for any help, whatever you need. You aren't alone."

I wanted so bad to believe her. I really did.

Gerard's mother left me with one last line, speaking quickly. "Now Donald and I are going to be out this afternoon, so I hope you'll be fine when Bob and Ray arrive. They are both lovely boys, and we are on speed dial if anything happens. We will see you later."

/

It seemed almost no time at all later, that I was sitting back downstairs with Gerard, trying to control the tremors that were shaking me every time I thought of the impending arrival. I knew Gerard was worried about me -he kept reaching over and squeezing my hand reassuringly, but it wasn't working. We had been looking through his comic book collection together, which I knew was Gerard trying to take my mind off it, and his discussion was interesting enough to make me pay a bit less attention to the idea of Ray and Bob.

"I think people forget that comic drawing is an art form too" Gerard had explained, looking earnestly through his collection, which was kept in several boxes under his bed that I hadn't even known existed. "People get so worked up over abstract and figurative art these days, that no-one has any time to spare for the comic artists, just because our art is never going to sell for millions"

Dr Simmons had talked about art a lot too, and I wasn't sure I agreed with what Gerard was saying. I countered this with "Wouldn't you say that figurative art takes a lot more time and effort though, especially as it is on a larger scale?"

"No" Gerard insisted. "For a start, William Blake the poet was also one of the greatest artists of his time, and his most famous work 'The Ghost of a Flea' was only thirty inches high. And comics do take a lot of work."

"Besides" he winked. "You're trying to tell me abstract art takes time and effort?"

I had to laugh at that one. I had never seen much modern art, but Dr Simmons hadn't been a fan. If I had been planning on sticking around on planet for much longer than a week, I would have asked Gerard to take me to an art gallery. Art would never be my thing, but that didn't mean I couldn't appreciate it.

We had been talking so enthusiastically that I almost missed the ring of the doorbell, and my heart dropped into my shoes when I heard it. This was it.

They were here.

"They're here!" Gerard said, his face lighting up. A sentiment I really couldn't share.

Leaping to his feet, he kicked the boxes of comics back underneath the bed and raced upstairs, me trailing dolefully behind him, trying to keep myself in check.

Pulling open the front door with an eagerness I had never seem him display before, he launched himself at two indistinct figures wrapped up in coats and scarves. On the kerb, and ancient and beaten up car idled gently, it's battered and scratched red paint job already drawing scandalised looks from the surrounding residents, curtains beginning to twitch in the houses across the street.

As Gerard gradually untangled himself from the two figures, I watched them closely as they stepped through the door. The first was a blonde haired, baby faced young man who burst through the door with enthusiasm, seeming to immediately take up the space around him, larger than life. His face was partially obscured with a fluffy blonde beard, which did nothing to mask the smile stretched across his face as he kept his arm loosely across Gerard's shoulders. I got a weird feeling as I looked at his arm around Gerard, but I didn't know what it meant so I brushed it aside and turned to look at the considerably quieter person who followed them through the door. He was a tall, muscular guy of about our own age. He was wearing a black band t-shirt and loose blue jeans, but the most distinctive feature was the strange addition of an afro on an obviously Caucasian person. I noticed he was twisting a guitar pick through his fingers as though he was nervous or something. That made me feel a bit better -that I wasn't the only one.

"Bob" Gerard said, pulling the blonde one towards me. "This is Frank, my new foster brother. Frank this is Bob". I noticed his voice slipped slightly on the word brother, as so did Bob apparently as he shot Gerard a funny look, but quickly turned back to me, extending his hand.

I remembered the incident last time, in the music store with Alicia. I hadn't even known then what an extended hand meant, it had just seemed like a threat. With pride, I reached my hand out to takes Bob's, experiencing a handshake for the first time. It felt strange, the only person who held my hand usually was Gerard, and this was nothing like that. Bob's palm was calloused and rough, at odds with the rest of his appearance and. His grip was incredibly strong. When he let me have my hand back I nursed it subtly with my other, hoping he didn't notice. He did, and shot me a wink. "Nice to meet you Frank, I'm sure Gerard's told you all about us" he said laughingly.

"He has actually" I said with a smile, beginning to grow in confidence in the presence of this seemingly friendly person. He didn't seem to hate me yet, but there was still the other one.

I turned back to Gerard, watching him embrace the taller guy, the one with the Afro. I sniggered slightly watching how high Gerard had to reach, then realised if he was having problems I was going to be screwed.

"This is Ray" Gerard said happily, gesturing towards the tall one. Ray seemed a bit quieter than Bob, and waved his hand at me awkwardly before tucking it back into his jeans pocket. The guitar pick was still twisting itself around his other hand, and I couldn't keep my eyes off it. Ray played guitar too? Wow, I wondered if he'd teach me anything, but I was too afraid to ask.

"Hi Ray" I mumbled, looking back at my feet. Behind me Bob burst out laughing, and I jumped about a mile. I turned to stare at the blonde young man who was cracking up looking at us all, apparently unable to contain his mirth. Gerard raised his eyebrows. "What, Bob?" He asked.

Bob smirked, and looked at us all. "Can you believe this? Three years and suddenly we're doing polite introductions and standing around in the hallway? Fuck man, this isn't us! Someone order the pizza, Frank here can show Ray and I where to find the video games. Don't worry" he winked, patting a large lumpy bag Ray had just carried through the door. "We brought the beer".

And with that, I had met Bob and Ray.

/

/

/

**There you are! I didn't want to put too much Bob and Ray in this chapter because we need Gerard's pov really, but I thought you would all want of see how Frank reacted to meeting them. Sorry if I made them seem like too much of a male stereotype, I just figured they all needed some male bonding. **

**I wanted to stay true to their characters, as Ray always did seem the quieter one -but someone in that little group needed to be fucking cheerful! So Bob's character essentially took one for the team -you all know what I mean? ;) **

**I'm so sorry -but not really. **

**Ahem. Enough of that.**

_**"We are not afraid...and we are not ashamed"**_

**Because conventional weapons...ahhhh! So much love!**

**Please everyone, I'm dying to hear what you thought of conventional weapons, review and let me know! **

**Personally, I just can't wait for The World is Ugly...it's like the fucking theme tune for this story!**

**Until next time, my lovelies**

**Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	21. I Don't Love You

**Okay guys here it is, and before we start can I just make a little suggestion? If your review contain questions or requests, it is always best to sign in -otherwise I have an unfortunate lack of ability to reply to you. Yeah...just sayin'**

**Just to reassure some of you in advance, there will be NO berard -they are merely good friends who have missed each other a great deal. I hope no-one is disappointed by the lack of Frank in this chapter -I promise he will reappear in the next. Well, obviously. It is his point of view.**

_**It's cold now. When I leave every morning there is frost on the trees, ice on the puddles and an achingly beautiful pall hanging over the little town where I live. I walk through the frozen silent streets, wrapped up against the cold in my long black clothes, with my headphones playing Breaking Benjamin. **_  
><em><strong>"I have nothing left...I can't face the dark without you..." I hear over and over again. It's just like last year. The same pretty christmassy streets, the same camera in my hands, the same music ringing through my head, foreshadowing what would come.<strong>_

_**The only difference is that she's gone. I walk these streets with my camera and my songs, alone now.**_

_**/**_

/

GPOV

I sniggered to myself as I watched Frank's thunderstruck face as Bob took him by the hand and pulled him from the hallway into the living room, like a whirlwind of energy. Bob had always been like this, over the top enthusiastic about everything and anything. I wondered how Frank would hold up -but I wouldn't have invited them if I didn't think it was okay and he could handle it.

Ray, perceptive even after three years, gave me a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about Bob, I'll go rein him in a bit" he grinned, and followed the two through the hallway. It was weird, seeing them again and having everything seem like it was back to normal. But it was so different, at the same time. Three years had passed, we were in a different state, a different house, and H was gone. I hadn't expected seeing Bob and Ray to shock me so much, but seeing them step through the door really stunned me. When you are the one that leaves, you never imagine things changing behind you. It's like you expect everything to stay in transit while you're gone, ready to begin again the moment you return. But they were both taller, their voices were deeper and they possessed a confidence none of us had had as fourteen year olds.

It was strange seeing them without H too. When they stepped in, I had honestly expected H to be behind them for a brief moment -I couldn't remember having ever seen them apart. Not necessarily bad, just...weird. Especially now Frank was here, and we were four again.

I shivered a little, as though chasing a ghost from my thoughts, remembered what I was supposed to have been doing and called the pizza place.

/

After we tired of video games, we started watching films. Bob and Ray commandeered the sofa, their enormous frames spread out and sprawled, Rays Afro barely visible beneath one of Bob's arms. I had quickly claimed the armchair, knowing from experience that otherwise Ray would descend and I would be forced into Bob's somewhat dubious company. Bob believed strongly in audience participation in films and provided us with a commentary the whole way through -fine during our usual action movies, but not so great during a horror flick. There are only so many times one can hear the phrase; "Ohh dear, she really shouldn't have done that..." -without leaning over and back handing the speaker.

Frank was sitting against the armchair I had taken. His knees drawn up to his chin and his arms wrapped around them, he had his eyes fixed on the screen. We were watching The Lost Boys, hoping the horror comedy would get us tired enough to get some sleep. It had never been a favourite film of mine, but Ray adored it, and Bob wouldn't hear of us watching anything else.

I glanced down at Frank again, hoping he was alright. We were nearly at the end of the film, and the bloody death scenes were getting more extreme. Frank was shivering slightly, his shoulder hunched. I put a hand on him to get his attention, and he jumped, then smiled foolishly when he realised it was me. "Are you okay?" I whispered and he shrugged, looking back at the screen where someone was getting staked in a bloody and gory mess. I winced, and understood. Shifting over in the admittedly enormous armchair, I made space for Frank to sit next to me and looked at him expectantly. Blushing and shaking his head, Frank tried to turn back to the television but I didn't let him, reaching out and slipping my arms under his shoulders and half pulling, half lifting him beside me. He was so light it was like lifting a child, not an almost adult. Bob chuckled from the sofa, while Ray didn't even seem to notice. Frank was blushing even more furiously now, but at least he was distracted from the screen.

Resting his head on the arm of the chair, Frank closed his eyes slowly. It was amazing how much a little gesture like that touched me. This time two weeks ago, Frank wouldn't have done that -he wouldn't have felt safe enough to close his eyes with other people around, especially strangers. The thought that he trusted me enough now made my heart swell. I hoped Frank was finally starting to realise what the real world was actually like.

As the film credits began to roll, and Frank was showing no sign of moving as his breaths grew heavier and heavier, I noticed Bob gesturing to me. Tilting my head curiously at him, he gestured impatiently again. Slowly, I began to carefully extricate myself from the little body beside me, and slid elaborately onto the floor. The room was dark now, the only light coming from the television where the credits were still rolling. The curtains were drawn, and my parents still hadn't gotten back.

Bob stood, and walked purposely towards the door, indicating silently I should follow. I walked after him, all the way through the hallway to the front door, my brow creasing in confusion as he led us outside.

"What's up Bob?" I asked, as he shut the front door carefully behind us. It was freezing outside, under the orange glow of the street lights with our breath fogging out in front of us. Bob lit up a cigarette and passed it to me, before lighting one for himself. I inhaled appreciatively, and blew out a plume of smoke with a sigh.

"I just wanted to have a chat without Ray and Frank, that's all" Bob explained. I chuckled in spite of myself. "We can have a chat anytime Bob, no need for the theatrics."

"I suppose" Bob smirked, "but it's not nearly so much fun"

"So what's up?" I asked.

"What's the deal with you and Frank?" Bob said abruptly. Surprised by the change in pace of the conversation, I was left floundering. "What do you mean?" I asked hastily.

"Look" Bob sighed. "It's obvious you're head over heels for him. I just wanted to know if there's anything there. How come he's living with you guys anyway?"

I was left absolutely dumbstruck by Bob's assumption. There was nothing between Frank and I except a broken little kid and a big brother figure trying to help him. I explained this to Bob the best I could, but I could tell he wasn't convinced. I hadn't been sure whether or not I should tell my friends everything, but if it was the only way to correct Bob's current assumption, it didn't seem like I had much choice. I took a deep breath, and then continued straight into Franks story. I omitted no detail, telling him everything I knew, from the moment Mom and Dad brought him home from hospital, to today. There was such relief in telling someone else the truth, the awful truth and feeling like I wasn't alone with the secrets anymore.

I didn't know where to finish, so I left it hanging in the middle of a sentence, and tailed off awkwardly.

Bob was looking at me in horror and disbelief. "THIS is why you asked us to come here? Christ, and we just thought you wanted to see us!" He said angrily. Bob began pacing across the driveway, his face in an uncharacteristic frown and his eyes unhappy as he turned to me; "What do you think we can possibly do that you can't? And how could you put this on us?!"

Part of me was shocked by Bob's sudden outburst, and the anger behind his words, so much so that I flinched right back from him. What had I assumed? That Bob and Ray would immediately be just as desperate to help Frank as I was? I didn't have anything to say, because he was right. It WAS selfish, to try and drag other people into this mess, particularly my two best friends. I was on the verge of apologising, when I looked at Bob again. That look on his face, it wasn't anger it was fear. I didn't know why exactly, but I had a pretty strong suspicion what it was. And then I reminded myself it had been my parents suggestion to invite Bob and Ray, not mine, and they had their reasons for it.

My brief moment of panic over, I grabbed Bob's arm and made him face me. "No! It's not like that" I insisted. "I missed you . I wanted to see you. And I thought it would be nice for Frank to make some new friends. That's all." I tried to keep my voice calm and even, hoping Bob would tell me what was really going on in his head. For someone usually so excitable and enthusiastic, this was really far out of character for him. Bob looked at me, his face twisted. "This is just like H all over again" he muttered. I sighed. I had suspected that was it. Why did fucking everything have to be about H? Wasn't I allowed to be friends with someone just because I LIKED them?

"Yes, Mikey and Alicia say the same" I said calmly. "But in fact Bob, I do not have some confusing psychological disorder where I can't tell the two apart. I'm perfectly aware that H is six feet fucking under and Frank is not him."

Bob looked as if I'd slapped him. "Don't say that" he said quietly. "Don't talk about him like that, like him being gone is something you can just throw away."

Looking more closely, I saw Bob's eyes watering slightly. "Don't forget Gerard", he said. "All three of us lost our best friend. Not just you."

I immediately felt horrible again. "Bob, I'm sorry" I said inadequately.

"It's okay" Bob said. "I didn't mean to push things again, it's just that Frank doesn't seem like the kind to...stick around. But I know what you're like, and I can tell you feel something for him more than friendship, already". I opened my mouth to deny it implicitly, but Bob continued before I had the chance. "Mikey, Alicia, neither of them knew you like I did back then. Not even Ray. But I know the truth; you didn't love H the way he loved you, and his death destroyed you. You care about Frank, what would you do if he died?"

I couldn't believe he had said that. No one else had dared to say it out loud, but then he was right; no-one else had ever known me the way Bob did. Only he had the right to say that. Shaking my head in denial, I sucked greedily on the cigarette to avoid answering. "Frank's not going to die. And I don't have feelings for him" I answered. "Bob I love you but you're reading too much into this. Frank is just a friend who needs help, who has had a terrible life, and who is just starting to get better."

"Have you told him about H?" Bob shot back.

"No! Of course not" I said. "After all, seeing as everyone else seems to be jumping to the same conclusion, I can't have Frank doing that." I said sarcastically.

"Well you better plan on explaining it soon" muttered Bob. "Because I have a feeling our Ray is in there right now doing exactly that."

"What?!" I exclaimed, quickly stubbing out my cigarette and turning to go inside. "Wait!" Bob said, grabbing my arm. "Don't you think it would be better coming from someone else? Someone...unconnected?"

I sighed. There had been far too many upheavals tonight for my taste. "Fine" I said sulkily, and folded my arms. Glad to have things resolved, Bob smiled at me, and we leaned against the wall in unison. I watched the dark street, the lit up houses across the road, and wondered what was taking my parents so long. The occasional car came past, bright headlights briefly lighting up our suburban neighbourhood. I almost missed Bob's voice.

"What?" I said, sure I had missed something. Bob spoke slowly, again.

"And you shall love your crooked neighbour/with all your crooked heart" he quoted.

I raised my eyebrow at him, and he smiled sheepishly. "Auden. It seemed...appropriate". I knew some poetry by Auden, but I hadn't heard this one. "Which poem was it?" I asked. "It's called 'As I Walked Out One Evening'" Bob smiled. "It's long, but it's beautiful. It's all about the inevitability of love, life and death."

Bob hadn't been much of a scholar when I met him, and I shot him a curious look which he immediately understood. "I'm going to college next summer, and I want to study literature" he said proudly. I felt awful to think I hadn't even asked what things were like in his life. "Really?" I said. "I didn't know you liked reading." I was struck by the sheer irrelevance of that statement and was embarrassed, but Bob absolutely burst out laughing suddenly.

"I know" he said. "Not exactly what everyone expected from me, but I love it."

I smiled warmly at him, enjoying the sensation of familiarity, catching up with an old friend, and settled back more comfortably against the wall as Bob began to tell me how things were for him.

He was happy, relatively. Just like when I had still lived with them both in New York, he and Ray still kept to themselves. Bob said when H died and I left in quick succession, it had been hard for him to cope. That literature, books and poetry and stories had become his safe place. The way he spoke about his words, reminded me of how I felt about art. The surface discussions, masking a deep passion.

I asked him about Ray, and he told me Ray was happy too. Ray had recently met a girl called Krista, and things seemed to be going okay for them at the moment. Better than they had for a while. Ray was still playing guitar obsessively, and wanted to study film next year.

"Krista?" I said with surprise. People had always just assumed Bob and Ray would eventually become an item, but were just waiting for the right time or push. No-one ever said anything or asked them about it, it was just one of those things you assumed, from the way they were never apart. H and I had never said a word. We figured they would tell us when the time was right.

"Yeah" said Bob with a sigh. "Krista. She's real nice, good for him".

I sensed, rather than saw something more behind his words, but knew better than to call him on it.

I thought about how strange it was that we were standing here now, almost adults. This time next year we would be living on our own, learning how to do things for ourselves, without restrictions except those we put upon ourselves. And I wondered how that was going to work out for us all. I wondered if Frank would still be here.

Just then, a set of headlights detached themselves from the main road and headed towards us, and my parents car pulled into the drive.

"Hello Bob!" My mom called warmly, as they got out of the car with their bags. My dad nodded in our direction, a man of few words as ever.

"Hi Mrs Way" said Bob with a genuine smile, as we both stubbed out our cigarettes. My parents had grown up knowing these guys, and I was glad that that level of camaraderie had survived.

As a group, we all turned to the front door. My mother pulled me aside quietly before we entered. "How is Frank?" She asked softly.

"He's okay" I said. "Bob and Ray have been okay, he hasn't...you know, freaked out". My mother nodded, and continued into the house.

/

Bob was in the sitting room before I was, and I heard his guffaw from the hallway.

Ray was fast asleep on the sofa, his fro spread out around his face, his massive lanky frame dangling off the cushions. Deep snores resonated from his chest. More amusingly, Frank was hanging precariously off the other end, equally fast asleep, his head tilted back and much softer snores coming from his little body.

I chuckled, and walked over to Franks end, looking down at him. There was a slight crusting on his cheeks that suggested tear tracks, and I wondered what I had missed worriedly. But Frank seemed so peaceful now, and Ray was with him. "Shall we leave them there?" Bob asked. "Yeah" I affirmed. "They don't need waking up now, you take take Frank's bunk for tonight if you want. "

Bob and I headed downstairs, and got into our respective bunks. It felt just like old times, where we would have sleepovers and stay up all night talking, like a pair of girls. We lay in silence for a while.

"Bob" I said eventually.

"Mhmm?"

"Thank you for coming. I needed to see you."

"It's okay Gee. I missed you."

"I missed you too. And..it can't be easy being here. With Ray."

Bob shifted his weight, and didn't say anything. I had just decided that I'd overstepped the mark, and closed my eyes when Bob spoke again.

"It hurts everyday to look at him." Bob whispered, his voice cracking. I didn't know what to say, because I could see both sides only too clearly. But Bob continued of his own accord, the words coming unbidden now I had brought it up.

"I know they always say it, don't fall in love with your best friend. But I didn't mean to, I couldn't help it. He's...perfect."

I winced, I couldn't stop the involuntary reaction. This was too familiar, and it hurt because it wasn't Bob's side of the story I identified with the most, but Ray's. I wondered if I was condemned to spend the rest of my life comparing every relationship I had and saw, to H.

Would I ever be free of him?

"Oh Bob" I sighed.

Bob made no reply, but his breathing grew deeper and slower, and I rolled over, prepared to sleep.

"That's how I knew Gerard" Bob said suddenly, his voice cutting through the dark.

"Knew what?" I asked, wrong footed.

"Knew about you and Frank. You look at him the way I look at Ray."

I had no reply.

**/**

**There you are lovelies. Again, sorry for the lack of Frank action -but Bob and Gee really needed their time. Who can guess what happened with Frank and Ray? Seeing as you'll find out next update day, it's fairly safe to guess ;) ...but no Fray. I promise. This is Frerard, nothing else. Any other OTP pairing I think would make the plot too complicated and unrealistic. So poor Bob won't get his way...especially as we all know Ray and Krista belong together 3**

**Also, to those of you commenting that the art/music/literature aspects make this seem like The Dove Keeper...I am an artist, and I am a musician. I also study literature. These three things, especially art, are my entire life, and I only write stories to express what I cannot paint or take a picture of. Therefore yes, art will be a theme. But it's not because of The Dove Keeper, which I only actually read the other week. Its just because these are the most important parts of my life, and we should 'write what we know'**

**Also, has anyone else finished The Dove Keeper? I am in AGONY of grief over it. I had to go and do lots of art based around it, to make me feel better. The art is on The Dove Keeper website if anyone wants to take a look.**

**Finally, on the MCR Facebook page I run, we collected all the killjoys "Very Much Alive" pictures and made them into an MCRmy video. I would appreciate anyone taking a look, or sharing it. Find it on my YouTube account **  
><strong>www . YouTube user  hanabelladonna (removing spaces)**

_**"You take the breath right out of me. You left a hole where my heart should be..."**_

**Until next time, my lovelies**

**Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	22. The Light Behind Your Eyes

**Happy Christmas!**

**I thought most of you would probably be too busy to read on Christmas Day, so here is your christmas update a day early! (In the UK at least.) I've been so busy these last few weeks, and I've absolutely killed myself today trying to get this written and edited for you all in time. So...appreciate it! ;)**

_**This chapter is for those of you like me, for whom Christmas brings painful memories. It was this time last year when I first made love with my Gee...she was perfection. Sometimes I wonder if she still keeps the necklace I gave her, or if she threw it away; just like she threw me away.**_

/

/

FPOV

After the chaotic night before, we were all shattered the next morning, and slept in far too late. I was only woken by the bright sunlight streaming over my face as the daylight broke, the shock of which sent my eyes wide open. I was fairly certain there was no daylight in Gerard's basement bedroom. I could hear someone grumbling in the next room, and turned my head. Only to find I couldn't breath. I was being choked by something frizzy and smooth and...I jerked my head backwards, disentangling myself from an Afro that seemed to be taking up pillow space next to me. At closer inspection the Afro appeared to be attached to a person, and an even closer look proved that person to be Ray.

What was Ray doing in bed with me?

I looked around more closely and sighed with relief. Ray and I were still on the sofa, snuggled up at opposite ends. Someone had draped blankets over us, and stuffed a pillow under our heads but my neck was still stiff and sore. I sat up slowly, wincing as a wave of dizziness passed over me and my empty stomach lurched. I managed to keep the nausea away, and glanced towards the kitchen doorway. The smell of coffee wafted out, no doubt what had triggered the nausea. This meant either Gerard or Mikey were awake and moving. Since I never heard Gerard come in last night, I presumed it was Mikey.

Last night was strange. I had never thought I would end up talking to Ray so much. I wasn't sure I could even face Gerard now, not after what Ray had said to me.

I replayed the events of the previous evening in my head. It was late, and I had been trying very, very hard not to show how freaked out I was. Bob and Ray seemed perfectly nice in the abstract, but Bob was so exuberant it was intimidating, and Ray never seemed to say anything at all. The evening went by quickly, with the other three playing what they called video games. I didn't really understand any of it, but I was content to watch. At one point Mikey stuck his head in, but they were so focused on the screen they didn't even notice. Mikey shot me a quick smile before he left, which shocked me more than the strangers arrival had. Perhaps he was starting to get over his aversion to me, finally.

After the pizzas arrived, I shifted so I was sitting leaning against the side of Gerard's chair. Gerard handed me a pizza box with a few slices of vegetarian pizza in it, and my stomach churned as I looked at the grease dripping from the melted cheese, staining the cardboard it rested on. Disgusting. I waited until Bob chose a film, before so much as looking at the food. The scent from it rose towards me and I wanted to gag at the cheesy tomato smell. As soon as Gerard and the others were occupied, I began breaking it into small pieces, and pushing them under the huge armchair, where I would remove them from at a later date. It was the closest hiding place anyway. The film that had been chosen certainly wasn't helping. The copious amounts of blood and gore were freaking me out. Bob and Ray kept laughing but I couldn't see the funny side. Gerard was shooting me worried looks by this point, and I doubled my subtlety as I stashed away the last few pieces of pizza.

Closing my eyes, I rested my head against the armchair. It was cold; I was only in a t-shirt and jeans, and my bones were protesting at their close proximity to the floor. I began shivering lightly, and it wasn't long after that Gerard pulled me to sit by him. It was nice of him, but he didn't have to be so close if he didn't want. I wasn't really sure what to think about Gerard to be honest. I mean, he was gay himself so surely he didn't really hate me for it. But then he was also this perfect creature, who was far too good to be spending time with the broken likes of me. I didn't really understand it at all.

After the movie finished, I was drowsing when I felt Gerard stir in the chair beside me. I opened my eyes a crack and watched him get up, and walk carefully across, leaving the room with Bob. Shifting a little, I closed my eyes again. I was about to go back to sleep when Ray suddenly spoke, for the first time in my memory.

"Hey...Frank" he said softly.

I was startled, and turned quickly. "Oh.." I stuttered. "Ray."

I saw the corners of his mouth turn up as he turned towards me.

"How's it going?" He asked quietly. In fact, everything he did he did quietly. The entire evening he had let Bob dominate the conversation, smiling contentedly and exchanging words with Gerard more privately. I liked him more for it. He was less intimidating. Apart from the Afro. That shit was fucking intimidating.

"It's okay" I mumbled, not really sure what to say. "You?" I asked for politeness sake. I wasn't expecting much in way of an answer, so I was surprised by the heaviness of Ray's sigh. "Yeah I'm okay" he said, at length. "Glad to meet you. It's good to know Gerard has someone around again. He needs people, although he doesn't admit it." I was startled into a laugh at Ray's wry tone.

"He doesn't act it" I said grinning in spite of myself. I didn't mean to poke fun at Gerard but I liked Ray.

"No" Ray smiled. "He was always like that though. You seem to be having a good influence." I snorted. As if. The only influence I would have was misery and despair. I didn't say this out loud, but Ray seemed to hear it in my tone.

"Frank" Ray hesitated. "When Gerard asked us to come down here, he wasn't too clear on what was going on. All he told us was that your parents were fostering a kid, and that there were problems. He asked us to stay, because he said you were having issues settling in, and we were the only friends he trusted and knew well enough." I smarted from the sting of his words. Problems? My only problem was waiting until next weekend to get the hell out of here.

I couldn't bring myself to snap at Ray the way I would have at Gerard though. He was too nice, and his words were gentle no matter what the subject. I just shrugged in the end.

"I don't have problems, I don't know why everyone insists that I do." I said, trying it keep my voice even. "Do we have to talk about this?"

"I'm sorry" Ray said, sounding sincere. "It's just that because Bob and I are leaving tomorrow...well, Bob's been through a lot and I like to think of myself as someone people can talk to. Someone you can trust. Everyone needs someone to talk to. And I won't be around often enough to make you worry about what you've told me."

I pressed my lips together. Ray had a point, but I didn't need anyone to talk to. Ray could clearly see the words I was suppressing, and tried a different tack.

"Have you ever tried writing it down?" Ray said quietly.

"Writing what down?" I asked.

"Everything that happened. Your whole life, why you're here. After H died, Bob went through a lot of therapy, and I went along for moral support sometimes. The best thing they ever did was get him to write it all down."

I didn't know who H was, although the name rang a bell somewhere...? Ah yes. The name that Alicia had shouted at Gerard in the corridor that day. Who was he? One of Bob's friends from the sound of it. I wondered if Gerard had known him too, and made a note to ask him sometime. But there was a much bigger issue with Ray's plan.

"I...I can't write" I mumbled shamefaced. "Not well anyway."

Ray looked at me, absolutely staggered. This was apparently a little fly in the ointment he hadn't been expecting. "Frank..." he said slowly. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen!" I snapped, my voice coming out high pitched from embarrassment. I could feel my cheeks heating up. What reason could I possibly have had to learn to write when I never saw daylight, never planned a future, never wanted to learn at all.

Ray didn't push it, but nodded slowly. "You haven't told Gerard everything, have you" he said. Ray was so perceptive. I shook my head mutely, no.

"Maybe you should. Can't you see how much he feels for you? He wants to help you, but he can't if he doesn't know what to do." This was even worse. I didn't want help, I didn't want Gerard to develop feelings for me. God, not when I wasn't going to be around to reciprocate! I didn't know what to say to Ray, so I shrugged again, hoping to humour him.

"I'll do it for you if you want." Ray said even more quietly. This really wasn't going the way I had hoped. I wondered if I could get away with pretending to be asleep until Gerard came back. I felt so much safer with him around. He didn't ask these questions all the time.

I ignored Ray, tracing my fingers over the rough weave of the chair Gerard had left me in. It swamped me now, without him. It was cold, and dark in the the room now. The dim light from the street lamps came through the window, and the DVD player was flashing the time 1:03 in blue light, but otherwise I could barely see enough to make out Ray.

"Gerard said you play guitar" Ray said suddenly. The change of subject surprised me into answering "Yes".

"So do I"

"Really?" I said with a smile. "Yep" Ray answered. "It's my way of dealing with the world. I write songs about it." That sounded familiar, and I understood exactly what he meant. "But" Ray continued. "The first thing I had to learnt was that not everyone sees things the same way. Not everyone will listen to my songs and understand what I'm saying. Sometimes, we have to be a little more obvious."

I didn't understand this part quite as well. I'd never tried to communicate with anyone before, to bridge those connections to find a place in the middle. Not in the way Ray was suggesting. The only person I'd felt anything like that connection with was Gerard, when we were just talking one on one. But I couldn't tell him the full truth. No-one should know how dirty I was on the inside. When I played my guitar in the evenings while Gerard did his art, I was talking to him then, wasn't I? The music I created, the way it made me feel...that was me saying 'thank you'. That was me saying 'I like being here' and 'I'm sorry' and 'I'm glad I met you'. Didn't Gerard understand that?

Ray was looking at me with such understanding. "It's a musician thing Frank." He said. "We communicate through our music because that's the way the world makes sense to us. And we can always recognise another person who sees the world in the same way. That's why I'm telling you now. When you play your songs, people don't understand what you mean. It took me a long time to realise that too."

I thought back to the very beginning. When I was six years old, and I first entered that foul little flat. How I had sat there locked in a cupboard for days on end, until I finally realised I could make noises with the oddly shaped, curved wooden hollow thing propped up in one corner. Ever since then, it had been my mouthpiece. Didn't everyone understand that? Like Gerard's art was to him, the guitar was for me. It was so clear to me most of the things that went through Gerard's head, because you could see it in the pictures he made. It ad never occurred to me he wouldn't understand what I was saying back.

Suddenly I knew what I needed to do. "Please Ray, I need to tell him the truth" I whispered. "Will you help me?"

/

I sat next to Ray on the sofa. In his lap was a notepad, and a pen was balanced, poised over the page. Ray looked at me expectantly. "Whenever you want to start" he said in his deep steady voice. I took a breath, nodded and began.

I started with the part I had already told Gerard, all those weeks ago when first arrived.

"On the day I was born, my father killed himself. At least, thats what we all thought at the time. He was eighteen, and mama was fifteen. He left a note, and disappeared. We all thought he was dead until I was six"

I used the exact same words that I had used when I was telling Gerard. I had heard the story so many times, it fell from my lips with ease. I clenched my fists ignoring the scribbling of Ray's pen next to me, and kept talking.

"Rio told me they grew up with an abusive father, and he spent his entire life trying to take care of his mother and her. Rio was his little sister. When he met mama, he was failing school, taking drugs, and cutting himself to ribbons. Apparently Mama should have known better, but she couldn't help it.

"Mama was only thirteen when she met him. Rio always said mama fell head over heels for him, this dark mysterious senior who was everything she ever wanted. I didn't find out from her, but apparently from the moment they became a couple, mama's life began to go downhill. Two years later she was pregnant and he was stockpiling razorblades.

"Rio blamed me when she thought father had killed himself. Then when he ACTUALLY died six years later, that was my fault too. Her entire life, her brother had been the one to take care of her and their mother, and as soon as I was born he was gone. Her mother couldn't cope, she followed after. The mental illnesses that ran through her family made them both victims, and suddenly Rio was left all alone. That's why she hated me so much.

"Mama looked after me. We stayed with her parents while she finished school, and then she took care of me. She was perfect." My voice broke on that. Talking about her hurt so much, even after all these years. If she hadn't died, everything would have been different.

"What happened next Frank?" Ray prompted me gently.

"It happened when I was six. Mama had been excited all day. She kept saying she had been mistaken. That father hadn't died. That everyone had lied to her to keep her safe, but now she was 21 they had told her she was old enough to make her own decision. I don't even know why I remember it so clearly. She told me we were going to meet her parents, and him. That we would be a family again, and the people who had lied to her couldn't find us again.

"But I was sick that day. I couldn't stop throwing up, and mama seemed so torn. She didn't want to leave me, but she told me this was her chance to get her life back. She called the babysitter, and went without me..."

I couldn't keep talking, my shoulders were shaking and I felt like I was choking as I relived that day. I forced my voice to work again, determined to finish the story. "The babysitter stayed all night, because mama never came home. In the morning she called the police. That was when they took me away.

"They kept me for a while. I don't remember how long. Then they gave me to Rio. She was my only living relative, her and her husband. She was the one that told me what happened. That the restaurant they went to was bombed. Mama and my grandparents, and my father were all killed.

"Then I stayed with them for eleven years. I killed my mama, I killed Rio's brother and she never let me forget it.

"Rio and her husband hated me. But she made me a promise. If I did everything they wanted, everything they asked, when I turned eighteen she promised she would tell me a secret. That perhaps someone had survived the bombing. But she didn't say who or how. Maybe she was lying altogether. But I had to know the truth. I kept my end. Eleven years, I was their slave to use, beat and abuse any way they wanted. But it was all I deserved after what I did."

I couldn't hold it in anymore, my voice kept breaking. Ray had never stopped writing next to me, scribbling furiously every word that came out of my mouth. When I stopped speaking, he turned to me curiously. Taking one look at my face, he pulled me into his arms and have me a huge bear hug.

"I'm sorry Frank, I didn't meant to upset you" he said, stroking my hair. "I just thought you needed to tell someone the truth. Gerard says none of them know exactly what happened to you, and they're all too scared of upsetting you to ask. I just had to..."

"It's okay" I sniffled, already gaining a bit of control back over myself. "It's okay. It's done now. Thank you."

/

After that, Ray had hidden the sheets of paper in his bag, we had both just practically fallen asleep where we were. At some point in the night someone had covered us with blankets. I was grateful in the morning, as nights were so cold for me. Someone had cleaned up as well, and opened the curtains. I felt that I should wake up Ray, but I was too embarrassed, especially after everything I had told him last night. It's different in the light of day.

I got up slowly, trying to avoid an unnecessary blackout, and headed into the kitchen. My initial guess was right, it was Mikey sitting at the table with a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, reading a magazine with bleary eyes. I felt better about seeing him today though. It was hard to be intimidated by a guy in unicorn patterned pyjamas and bare feet.

"Oh, hi Frank" he said looking up, giving me a weary smile.

"Hey Mikey" I said uncertainly. "Where's Gerard?"

"He's still asleep" Mikey smirked, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the basement. "So are Mom and Dad, and just about everyone, it's Sunday after all." I just nodded. I was never sure what to say around Mikey. Even if he seemed to have gotten over his initial aversion to me, I couldn't shake the sense that he didn't approve of me.

At a loss, I went back to the living room at sat back in the armchair, and waited for everyone else to get up.

/

It seemed like hours later that Gerard stumbled blearily into the living room in an oversized misfits T-shirt and black pyjama pants, his dark hair mussed up and a red mark on one side of his face from where he'd been sleeping. Seeing me still curled up in the armchair, his eyes lit up and he smiled wickedly. "The fro didn't choke you in the night then?" He winked.

"Almost." I dead panned, and he laughed. "That always happens if you sleep within ten feet of Ray, trust me!"

Just then, Ray began stirring, mumbling grumpily. Gerard and I shared a look then burst out laughing. I felt so light and buoyant, like through telling Ray everything last night I had somehow exorcised that ghost. Not that it changed anything, but it felt a bit better.

/

Later on, we all went out for a walk, to look around the shops before Ray and Bob had to leave. After aimlessly strolling around for a few hours, chatting about music, art and everything in between, we ended up back in that music shop where I had first met Alicia. Nothing had changed, the same posters adorned the walls, the racks of guitars were still in the same order, and the dreadlocked shop assistant still tried to flirt with Gerard. Ray, Bob and I exchanged smirks at her increasingly inept attempts, leaving him to deal with her. Gerard caught up with us a moment or two later, looking slightly flustered and glaring accusingly at us. We tried very hard to look innocent.

Sitting on a couple of stools in the back, Ray and I grabbed a couple of guitars to try. I picked out the same white Les Paul that I had last time, and Ray pulled a classic Telecaster off the hook. We plugged in and began fooling around on them. It was fascinating, the way we had such different styles. Ray seemed to follow very technical patterns which I recognised from Dr. Simmons' lessons on music theory that were currently serving me so well in school, whilst I played more through instinct, sensing which notes and chords would sound right. Bob and Gerard had wandered off to a different section, and I could hear a faint drumbeat.

Eventually Bob and Gerard found their way back to us, Bob tapping on the racks with his drumsticks in time to the guitar. I wondered if he ever left home without them. Gerard hummed along to our improvised tune, smiling at me and looking happier and more relaxed than I'd seen him in a long time.

It felt nice, very comfortable sitting here and playing guitar with someone else. Making music with a group of people. Natural, almost.

I didn't know it, but in the weeks to come, this memory would sustain me during the darkest times.

**/**  
><strong>**  
><strong>**

**So what did you think of that one? It's Christmas Eve, show a little seasonal goodwill and review, just to make my christmas? :')**

**I hope we all liked Ray. He always seemed the strong silent type to me, and Gerard once said in an interview that he kept everyone's secrets in the band. Clearly he keeps them in the fro.**

**Happy christmas again! Much love to you all, hope you all get what you asked for! Personally I asked for Gerard. Naked.**

**BUT anyway. **  
><strong>P.s. conventional weapons 3 is perfection.<strong>

_**"Never let them take the light behind your eyes..."**_

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	23. Headfirst for Halos

**If you live in the UK you probably went back to school today. If you're anything at all like me, this will not be an exciting concept to you. In fact you will be wishing you were anywhere else on the planet.**

**That's me. I'm sitting in my English Literature class, hating being here, enjoying the fact that I'm being more productive than anyone else because I'm actually writing a story. Much more important than exam preparation.**

**Now, a lot happens in this chapter. This is where the plot starts to kick in. Please read carefully so you don't miss anything.**

_**For the first time in over a year, I feel like my head isn't clouded by her anymore. Perhaps enough months have passed that I can see from a distance again. I have a future, and I have come to accept she will not be in it.**_

/

/

There was something gorgeous about Frank's face when he played the guitar. Something fresh and new, the flush of youth shining through him where there was usually only darkness. I could watch him for hours, truth be told. Watch his cheeks gently reddening at the attention, his brown eyes brighter than they were anywhere else, his pale flawless hands travelling effortlessly over the fretboard. Watching him, you could forget the things he'd seen and done and the life he led. He looked unspoiled, pure and innocent while the music flowed through his hands. I just watched, a small smile on my lips, utterly entranced.

Truth be told, I barely noticed Bob and Ray's presence at all. Bob was tapping out a beat on the guitar next to me, and Ray was weaving a complicated melody into Frank's composition. I could have listened all day to the music we were making. But of course life didn't seem to want to conspire that way, and eventually, with a sigh, Bob reminded Ray that they wanted to make it back before too late that night. Ray smiled at Frank, fist bumping his shoulder as he stood awkwardly, fumbling with the guitar lead. The shop assistant who I had thought I had successfully escaped, rushed forwards and began fussing over the guitars, making sure they were in the correct places whilst Frank and Ray stood by watching, slightly embarrassed. Both of them were playing with their guitar picks with the exact same twisting of the fingers, entirely unconscious of what they were doing, and I grinned.

The assistant, mistaking my smile as one aimed at her, straightened up from the racks and gave me an unmistakably flirtatious look, subtly adjusting her purple jeans so they hung slightly lower on her hips, shaking her dreadlocks back, the beads rattling. I winced involuntarily at the female attempting to attract me, and smiled swiftly at her, before turning away as soon as politeness allowed me. Behind me, I heard Ray thanking her profusely for letting Frank and himself play the instruments, and a slight mumble that might have been Frank adding to Ray's statement.

The other three caught me up as I left the shop, without turning to wave at the assistant. All three of them were in fits of laughter at my clear uncomfortableness; something I didn't appreciate. I mean Christ, a woman was flirting with me! I was never going to be attracted to that!

"Oh lighten up Gerard!" Bob snickered. "At least you could be getting some if you wanted!"

I shuddered. God no. Women were just...so unattractive, sexually. Like Barbie dolls, too curvy and smooth. Give me a hard chest and cock any day. Not that I'd be getting any in the next decade of course, if my luck held. Cuffing Bob around the back of the head, I kept walking. Frank and Ray were a few steps behind us, conversing intently although I couldn't make out the subject of their conversation. I felt a tinge of jealousy, but suppressed it the best as I could. It wasn't fair to begrudge Frank a friend, not the way things were for him. It was odd the way we had almost split into two factions with the arrival of Bob and Ray, with Bob coming to me and Ray to Frank. But then it made sense that for the short time we had we would gravitate towards the person we had the most to say to.

We were still in town, so obeying an age old tradition that used to be us plus Mikey and H, we went to Starbucks. Because even though the prices were ridiculous, the standards had dropped, and the invention of all these stupid new types of coffee made the menu almost impossible to navigate, it was still Starbucks and tradition is tradition. The moment we stepped thorough the swinging glass door with the familiar green logo, was always like coming home for me. The smell of roasting coffee beans and sugar, the warmth and the chatter and bustle. It was my second home.

Frank however, I noticed was looking around warily, his eyes guarded and his hands clenched in his pockets. It was then I remembered this was where I had taken him on his first day of school, made him eat something. No wonder he was looking so unhappy. Charging Bob with the task of ordering coffees, Ray who had quickly assessed the situation, gestured us all towards a table towards the back. I still wasn't sure what Ray and Frank had been talking about to make Frank cry last night. I hoped to god Ray hadn't told him about H, and anything else about me. But then the only alternative was that Frank had somehow opened up to Ray about his life, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Petty jealousy and possessiveness again, but I couldn't help myself from feeling it.

Pulling out a chair, Frank sank gratefully into it. It was only then that I looked properly at his face, the circles under his eyes and the greyish tinge to his cheeks, and realised how exhausted he was. The walk here, plus the guitar playing and then the stress of this place was making him look ill, and I cursed myself for not picking up on it sooner. "Are you okay Frank?" Ray asked, sounding concerned. Frank nodded shakily, and made a visible effort to sit upright. Now he was off his feet the colour slowly began to return to his cheeks, much to my relief. Ray and I exchanged a significant look, loaded with meaning. This couldn't go on. Something had to break, and it was going to happen soon, I could sense it.

Bob turned up shortly after with the coffees, and the tension quickly gave way with his ebullient presence into meaningless laughter and banter as we drank down the liquid caffeine. I was happy to see Frank joining in, even teasing Bob back at one point. It was an nice half hour or so to spend, acting like all four of us were normal teenagers for once, even Bob flirting outrageously with the handsome young waiter who brought us refills when we finished our first coffees. For us as a group, as teenagers this was our version of going to a bar. When other young people our age managed to borrow ID from older siblings or commission fake ones, and went out to get drunk in chaotic messes of underage debauchery, Ray, Bob, H and I went for coffees. It was over these that we turned into gossiping women, discussing everyone and everything around us. And now Frank was with us, filling the gap left by the fourth, and we were together again.

We whiled away a fair few hours that late October morning, in the back of Starbucks. We covered everything from fine art and literature, to the gradual decline of rock music. Bob joked as he always did, that we should form a band. "After all!" Bob said loudly, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis, "we have an entire line up between us if you get little Mikey in on it!" I burst out laughing at the thought of shy, stage-scared Mikey being in a band, and shook my head vigorously. "Not now Bob, maybe when we live in the same state perhaps" I chuckled. Frank looked absolutely petrified at the very idea, cowering back in his chair as though he thought someone would force him onstage at that very moment. I smiled at him reassuringly. "Don't worry Frank" I said. "Bob's wanted to be in a band since he first worked out he could bang on his cradle bars in a syncopated rhythm. Pay no attention!"

Bob pouted.

/

By mid afternoon we were heading home, the staff having began looking slightly askance at us, as though wondering why a group of grubby teenagers were still there taking up precious air space in their cafe. We walked back slowly through the suburban streets, shivering slightly in the chill as the autumn leaves swirled around our ankles and rotted in the gutters. Now that it was almost time for Bob and Ray to leave, the mood had turned slightly more serious, and we could feel it.

"Are you really okay Gerard?" Ray asked quietly, from my left shoulder. I turned to smile at him; "Yes, I think I am" I said softly. Seeing my friends have made me feel more at peace than I had in a long time. It was like I wasn't shouldering the burden of Frank's secret alone anymore, and I felt so relieved. Ray nodded, apparently reading the truth in my eyes, and said more seriously " You need to watch Frank. He's...he's not okay Gerard. Like, really not okay."

"I know" I sighed. "I'm trying. If it gets any worse...I'll tell mum and dad. What did he tell you exactly?" I knew they had been talking that night, but I didn't know what Ray knew.

"He told me everything Gerard. He needs help. More than you can give him, you need to remember that. He's not going to get better by himself. I he doesn't get help, he will die Gerard. He's sick on the inside, and you need to tell people who can get him help" Ray said bluntly.

I nodded softly, too tired by the whole business to be shocked anymore. Ray was right, I was just too frightened to acknowledge the truth. I didn't want them to take Frank away. He made things better with me. I had to be able to fix him, I couldn't fail again. This one I had to save.

We rejoined Bob and Frank, who were still having an animated conversation about The Smashing Pumpkins, who were touring next year. Frank and Bob were determined to go see them, and were trying to convince Ray and I to go. Now Ray had said those things to me, I was watching Frank more closely. I remembered sitting in the bathroom with him, washing the vomit from his chest all those weeks ago. I remembered how he told me he wanted to die. How he was going to die soon. And yet here he was making plans for next year? I looked at him silently, and saw what Ray had been saying. That gleam in his eye as he talked excitedly, that wasn't just excitement, that was sickness. That was a complete unawareness of the contradiction in his words, a lack of consciousness of his own thoughts and actions.

Frank WAS sick. Sicker than I had let myself realise, and it had taken someone outside the situation pointing it out for me to be able to admit it to myself. Oh my God.

I looked at Ray again, suddenly panicked and he nodded soberly at me. "Get him help" he murmured in my ear, before rejoining the group, talking with slightly more enthusiasm than was necessary. I walked more slowly, a few steps behind them, my mind racing. Get him help. How? Who?

Several hours, a few packed suitcases, and the odd impromptu guitar solo later, Bob and Ray were ready to leave. It was dark by this point, and mom wouldn't stop fussing over them being okay to get back. Ray was taking it patiently as she gave him a run down of the best routes and whether or not his ancient little car could make it, but I could see him starting to get frustrated and I stepped in eventually. "Come on mum, they made it down alright" I said, prising her away from his GPS. "I know, but it can be dangerous on the roads" mom said sharply, before reminding me yet again that I couldn't drive and should therefore shut up. But that was different. I had never wanted to drive -I had never wanted to go anywhere that I couldn't walk or get a train to.

Taking the time to say goodbye to Bob, I wrapped him in a tight hug. Bob was looking a bit downcast, and I felt the same. It wasn't fair that we were all back together for the first time in years, and now they had to leave again so soon. But Bob and Ray had their own lives to live, and I had to figure out a way to save mine and Frank's. "You'll visit again soon?" I asked, my words muffled by Bob's warm shoulder. "Of course" he reassured me, before breaking away and shooting a glance at Ray. I smiled at him sadly. It wasn't fair that after everything we had all been through, Bob didn't get his happy ending. I hadn't had time to speak to Ray about Krista, but he seemed happy. It was so hard. I just wanted them both to be happy. But sometimes in life, two happy endings cannot reconcile themselves to exist in the same universe.

I gripped Bob's shoulder tightly, putting all my empathy into that one touch. "You'll be okay" I said, looking him dead on in his baby blues. "You'll find someone. And they'll be perfect. They'll probably even love literature and shit." Bob gave a short laugh, then smiled at me sadly. "I hope so" he said. Then Ray called over, asking what we were taking so long about. Mom had finally let him free and he was anxious to leave. Frank was hovering awkwardly next to the car, having said his goodbyes to Ray. I noticed Ray giving Frank his email address -Frank looking completely bewildered at it -and made a note to explain the concept of email to him sometime soon, and set up an account for him. Bob strode forwards, and pulled Frank into a huge bear hug, probably crushing his lungs in the process. I smiled at Ray, and leaned up to wrap my arms around his shoulders.

"Thank you for coming" I said, and I meant it from the bottom of my heart.

Ray smiled back. "Anything of you man" he said, then slapped me on the back, and headed to the car.

Frank and I stood by the side of the road, waving as they drove away. It was strange, how in the space of two days, being with Bob and Ray had begun to feel natural, like they were part of our life. It was even stranger realising I had no idea when I would see them again.

Frank and I returned to the house in silence.

/

The next week passed quickly, and slowly at the same time. Some things got better, and some things got worse. School was improving, since Mikey and Alicia seemed to have finally moved past their aversion to Frank, and accepted him unconditionally. I think the long conversation I had had with Mikey the previous week had definitely helped. We spent long study periods down in the music rooms, Frank and Mikey drilling over and over on the strings, while Alicia and I watched. Well, she watched and I drew Frank.

Frank continued to excel in school in some ways. In others, he was hopelessly and pitifully behind. In music, he could name virtually any given piece in the history of music, and recite verbatim it's main features. I suspected an eidetic memory was something to do with this. In english he grasped the concept of interpretation faster than I had ever seen a beginner do, and was reciting halfway decent essays to me straight out of his head before the end of the first week. In art he couldn't draw or paint at all, held a pencil like a child, but was learning history of art just about as fast as I could teach him. I had to tell him though. He couldn't read or write. He didn't understand the concept of numbers. Science was an utter mystery to him, except for human biology where he could tell you every single aspect of the human body, and it's purpose, and it's response to chemicals, harm or different foods. Likewise with psychology. He had never heard of Milligram or Skinner, but already knew everything about their work.

The teachers were mystified. They didn't know what to do with this tiny boy who followed me around like a shadow, never spoke, couldn't read or write and yet seemed to know their subject better than they did. They chose to say nothing at all. I suspected they were saving their real inquiry for my parents.

At home, things were strange. I found it difficult, being alone around Frank now I had been forced to confront my feelings for him. I wasn't sure if he knew or not, but I hoped to god it was the latter. Frank's eating problems were getting worse too. I would think he had eaten the meal, and then find the food hidden somewhere, or stuffed in the trash later. I never caught him vomiting again, but every time he went for a shower I would wait outside, praying my mother didn't see me, listening intently and hoping he wasn't using the water as cover.

Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt like Frank was acting differently too. As the week progressed, he seemed to grow more and more twitchy. Little things would make him jump, and it felt like he was avoiding conversations with me now. It really hurt. I wondered if he had realised how I felt about him, and felt uncomfortable being around me. But to be honest, I wasn't even sure how I felt about him. I could no longer deny that I was attracted to him, but I wasn't sure how deep it ran, and I hadn't probed my feelings too closely to find out. So we circled around each other awkwardly. I kept drawing him, he pretended not to notice. He made polite conversation with my parents and Mikey, and spoke to me when I spoke to him first. And so, the days passed.

/  
>It was a late Friday afternoon, the week after Bob and Ray's visit, when it happened. It was Halloween. Usually this would excite me, but this year we weren't doing anything. There were no parties I would be invited to, and I didn't want to watch anything scary in case Frank had a bad reaction. My main plan for the evening was keeping Frank away from the trick or treaters. The last thing he needed was another panic attack.<p>

We had been home from school for a few hours. I was beginning to teach Frank the basics of writing -he was refusing to let me tell my parents - and we were going over the concept of the alphabet, over and over on scraps of my art paper at the desk. Eventually Frank threw aside the pencil in disgust, and picked up one of my sketchbooks instead. He was flicking through it idly whilst I rummaged through my bag looking for a book, when I heard Frank gasp from beside me. I turned to him, to see him holding the page open to the drawing i had completed the night before he arrived.

The boy, the guitar, the cliff and the waves.

A boy with a guitar sat on the lip of a cliff, in the middle of the night. He looked about my age, but his head was hanging down over the guitar, so his face was indecipherable. His hair was about the length of mine, and hung in dark strands over his face. I knew nothing about guitars, so predictably the guitar was an indefinably generic make. But there was something about the ease in the line of his body, as his fingers rested gently on the seventh fret, which suggested he knew how to play this instrument.

At the foot of the cliff, waves were forever frozen in motion, halfway towards crashing against the rocks, and a deep crack in the rock indicated a cave. One or maybe two shadowy figures were almost indistinct against the black. In some places I'd pressed so hard I'd almost broken through the page. The picture was rough, almost brutally drawn in harsh lines. Yet that very roughness made it seem almost alive, as if it could burst off the page.

Frank was staring, his eyes huge and dark in his face. "Me?" He asked, slowly. I nodded, embarrassed and reached to take it from him, but he held on to it tightly. "Its...its like a sign.." I thought I heard him mumble, but when I asked him "Sorry?" He quickly told me it was nothing. But his face was saying something different, as he gazed down at the picture. I wanted to tell him the truth, that I had never met him when I drew it. That I had sat there one night and drawn him, without having ever seen his face in my life. How I had dreamed of him before I knew his existence. That I wondered what it all meant. But somehow the bizarre words caught in my throat, and I couldn't.

Before I got the guts, Frank pulled himself together. He complimented me on the drawing in bright false tones that I had never heard him use before. For the first time since I had met him, I felt uneasy around Frank. Like there was something he wasn't telling me. Before I could question him, Frank made an excuse to leave the room.

I considered following him, but I didn't even know what I would say if I found him, so I let him go. I lay back on my bed, and tried not to think. I must have drifted to sleep at some point. When I woke up, my face pressed awkwardly to the pillow, the room was dark and slightly chilly. I got up slowly, and then wandered upstairs idly, rubbing my eyes, passing Mikey in the living room. It wasn't until I reached the kitchen that I noticed something weird.

I didn't know where Frank was. I wandered the house first confused and tired, remembering how awkward things were with Frank. This had never happened to us before, this kind of fragility in conversation and I knew we needed to talk about it. But I couldn't seem to find him anywhere. After a few minutes though, I was starting to get worried. By the time I had searched every single room in the house three times over, I was beginning to panic. I searched everywhere, I called Mikey, I called my parents to help me look. But it was no good, no matter where we looked.

Frank was gone.

I ran down the hallway and threw open the front door, hoping against hope I would find him sitting outside, staring at the cars going by like he sometimes did. But the street was empty, nothing but bare concrete sidewalk and houses as far as the eye could see. My parents car was still sitting in the driveway, and nothing was different.

My shoulders slumped, and I turned to go back inside. But then just as I did, I caught a flash of white from the corner of my eye, and turned back to the street in hope. But it wasn't Frank, wasn't even a person. No, somebody had very carefully and neatly tucked a white envelope underneath the windscreen wiper of my mothers car, the same way a traffic warden would tuck in a speeding ticket. It was the light reflecting off the white paper which had caught my eye. My heart sped up, but I told myself it was just a coincidence, it had to be something else.

I almost left it and turned back inside, but something made me walk over to the car, and pluck the envelope from under the windscreen wiper, taking it in my hands. My name was on the front, in gigantic swirls of childish handwriting, like a three year old had written it. Just three letters, G-E-E all capitalised, written in a soft pencil. Gee. There were only two people allowed to call me that, and I was fairly certain Mikey hadn't left a note under the windscreen.

I opened it in the street, with shaking fingers. I slit the envelope, and pulled out a sheaf of paper. It took me a moment to register what I was seeing. I didn't even know what I had been expecting. There was page after page of writing in front of me, in a round firm handwriting I recognised from my childhood. Handwriting I had seen a thousand times, on lyrics, schoolbooks, notepads, little notes passed across desks in primary school. It was Ray's handwriting.

Why would Ray's writing be on this paper? I looked around foolishly, as though expecting him to appear. My heart was pounding and my face was flushed. I remembered how Bob and I had found Ray and Frank asleep that night, tear tracks still glittering on Frank's cheeks. I could barely bring myself to start reading, but I knew I had to. I unfolded the first sheet, and looked down.

_My name is Frank Iero. I will be eighteen years old on the 31st of October. _  
><em>On the day I was born my father killed himself. I know I will soon follow him...<em>

I didn't read any further. I dropped the papers where they were, took a glance back to the front door, and then I started running.

/

/

/

**So we all know what happens next.**

**Well, do you? I certainly do, I'm the one with this little file labelled 'plot outline' on my ipad. The rest of you just have to wonder, or wait until next week ;) Of course if I get any particularly fabulous reviews, I may be persuaded to drop a slight hint. Possibly.**

**"****_To reveal art and conceal the artist is arts aim" _**  
><em><strong>~Oscar Wilde.<strong>_

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	24. Dead!

**There is nothing I can say about this chapter except just read it. **

_**Now, after all this time, I'm starting to think I hate her. Maybe I hated her all along. **_

/

/

/

When I was small, mama was always busy during the day. She would leave first thing in the morning, after kissing me goodbye and making me promise to be a good boy. I was always a little scared of her then. There was something very different between the mama who wore soft fleece pyjamas just like mine, and cuddled with me and read me stories, the mama who would let me sit on her lap for hour, the mama who played in the garden with me helping me build a den, and pushing me on the swings...and this tall arresting girl in crisp white shirts, her hair pulled back, always carrying a heavy bag of books. She would kiss me, taking care not to smear her lipstick, and promise she would be home soon. I would snuggle back into the sheets, warm and cosy and crawl under the bed covers until I heard the car pull away, and grandma came to see me.

Grandma was always warm and soft and smelled nice. She wasn't old, not really. In retrospect she must have only been in her forties at the time, struggling to cope with a daughter who was now a mother, yet was still in high school. It must have been hard on her, and sometimes the lines of worry showed around her eyes, making her look older than she was. But she never let this spill over to me, not once. She would make me breakfast, and then while we were sitting at the kitchen table, she would always look at me and ask "What would you like to do today while your mama's at school and grandpa's at work then, little Frankie?" I would giggle, knowing Grandma would choose like she always did. Some days we went to the local park, and I would swing on the rusty swing set whilst Grandma pushed me for what seemed like hours. Other days it was shopping day, and we would wander around the big centre all morning, Grandma pushing the trolley, me sitting in the little seat pointing out all the things I was certain we must need from the crowded shelves. But my favourite days, were the days we went for walks together. Grandma belonged to a women's walking club, for middle aged mothers determined to stay in shape. They met up once every few weeks, to trek a pre-planned route through the day. Experienced hikers all, they were determined not to let their domestic lives soften their bellies and put layers of fat on their hips. As far as they were concerned, they had all been adventurous, athletic young women. "Why should age make any difference?" They quoted. There were many walks they chose, from the landscape across New Jersey. But for the days when nobody wanted to stray too far from home, these Belleville born women chose the route nearest for them. Their particular favourite, was the palisade cliffs.

The palisade cliffs are a natural rock formation that stretch alongside the Hudson River. Only twenty minutes drive from Belleville, the cliffs stretch along the river for twenty miles; huge granite formations which stretch up into the sky like ancient watchtowers, as the enormous river crashes below them. There are cracks and flaws in the cliffs, and when I was little I used to imagine they were faces, staring at me. They are beautiful, a true testament to the incredible power of nature.

Grandma and the other women would meet at the start of the trail, experienced hikers all of them, in their sturdy hiking boots and weatherproof clothing. Grandma was the only woman there with a child strapped to her front, but it never slowed her down. They would hoist their light hiking bags onto their backs, tighten their laces and set off. The walks were never too fast, more of a chance to enjoy the stunning scenery, and catch up on the latest news -whose husband had been promoted, or whose son was doing especially well in school. There were the quiet ones too; the ones who never spoke or contributed, but attacked the walk with silent determination, closing their ears to the achievements of the other women, even as they pretended they would surely have achievements of their own, should they care to share them.

I bounced along happily in my sling on Grandma's chest, happy to be held close to her. We would walk for a few hours, and then break for lunch. This was usually at the top of the cliffs where worn down safety barriers prevented the foolish from venturing too far towards the edge. I never had time for the beautiful scenery when I was small. Running around exploring a little was good enough for me, until Grandma called me over to begin the trek home.

/

Fifteen years later, and I was returning to the place I had always subconsciously known I would. Since the moment I had seen Gerard's drawing, I knew my return was imminent. When I was a child, this place meant peace to me. It was the closest I felt to God. Mama wasn't religious, but Grandma was. When I was tired of playing and eating I would lie back on the soft grass in the meadow we always broke for lunch in. I would gaze upwards into the sky, which seemed so much closer than usual. Sometimes Grandma would lie next to me, and ask me what I saw. My answer would always be the same. "Nothing Grandma, but that doesn't mean He's not there." Grandma would chuckle, and pull me closer, stroking my hair.

I stopped believing in God when I realised no deity would let my life continue the way it was. I realised that if judgment for killing my family would be passed on me in heaven, it did not make sense that I was being punished on earth too. I think I was about seven years old, when I concluded God did not exist, and banished the idea from my heart and mind.

But the serenity of the place never left me. During the thousands of nights I spent in that flat, feeling my body ripped apart, I used to close my eyes, and return to that place on the cliffs. Whilst one or the other of them was doing things to me that I preferred not to remember, I would lock my stare on a fixed point, and feel myself slip away. It was like watching myself from above, discovering there was a place inside of me I could go, where there was no pain and no hate. Just me, alone amongst the sound of the rushing river, the long soft grass, and the gentle breezes in the little clearing by the end of the cliffs.

I had spent the week researching the best route to the flat, never realising I would be returning to the cliffs. I had thought I would follow my father, in letting the blood drain from my wrists in a cold little room, until I knew no more. But unlike my father, I would succeed. There would be nobody to save my life this time. I thought that the walls of the filthy flat would be the last thing I saw. After all, they had promised they would return had they not?They had promised me answers.

I had left the house quickly and silently. Gerard had been downstairs, with that terrifying drawing, probably still musing whether or not to come after me, so I took the chance. I had known all day that it was my last day, and in the end I was relieved I could get away so easily. My heart had still been pounding as I closed the door softly behind me, praying nobody would hear me go or attempt to come after me. As soon as I was clear of the house, I started to run. I jogged all the way to the flat, my heart in my mouth, my weak muscles shaking and I prayed I had the right route.

I didn't recognise it from the outside. These tall, towering blocks of concrete that housed a multitude of society lowlifes. We were the rats, the scum, the ones that family like the Way's never realised existed. I hadn't left the flat in all those years, and the outside was unfamiliar to me. Yet unmistakeable through its squalor, and I was almost relieved to be back here. This was where I belonged. I paused for a moment, gazing upwards, then I shook my thoughts aside, making myself take the first step up towards the flat on level three. As I climbed the stairs, gripping the iron railings tightly, I shivered in the cool evening air. There were only a few hours until sundown, and you could already feel it. I looked up past the stairs, and forced myself to keep climbing. My calm was slipping, and I was shaking as I did so, my teeth chewing on my lips violently. I barely noticed when they broke through and hot, metallic blood flooded my mouth. Past level one, past level two...and there it was. The entrance to flat three. I was focussing on the battered wooden door at the top of the stairs. Stained, and covered with graffiti, it was crumpled in a way which suggested it had been kicked in more than once.

I forced myself onwards, step by step even though the fear and nausea that rose in me at the sight of it, at the memory of the last time I walked through that door, threatened to bring me down. When I stood in front of it. I could barely bring myself to extend a hand, and grasp the doorknob. I felt certain that once I walked through, there would be no turning back. As I stood there, shaking in the late autumn air, all I could think of was Gerard promising to fix me. How he had sang to me that first night, how he had drawn me...and I knew, that if I turned around and ran home right then, he would be there to save me.

But I didn't want to be saved. I was Frank Iero, born to die. Nobody could help me, I was like one of those broken down clocks, that just keep on ticking the same note over and over, even though their insides are wrecked to hell. More than that, I was a ticking time bomb, and it was time to end this. Using the last of my willpower, I forced Gerard and his face from my mind, and stepped through the door.

It was smaller than I remembered. Maybe I had gotten used to the size of the outside world, because this was tiny. It was pitch black at first, the daylight barely leaking through the front door, as though the darkness in this hole repelled it. I just stood in the doorway staring. As the memories hit me, I felt my knees begin to buckle as sensation washed over me. My head was going dizzy and I could tell I was going to fall. But I forced myself to remain standing, holding onto the door frame for support. This was the end. What did I have to fear now? I came to my senses, and walked through quickly, my hand over my mouth to block out the horrendous smell of blood, vomit and human waste which permeated every corner. I kept my eyes shut tight, just like they always had been, reaching for the cupboard door in the corner, where I knew it would be. My fingers scrabbled across the bare floorboard, turning up dust and an unidentified sticky substance which I ignored, until my searching fingers closed around the long narrow metal cylinder.

I was amazed the torch still worked after all this time. I hadn't been expecting it. I flicked it on, and looked around warily at the inside of the little cupboard. It was exactly how I recalled it, as though no-one had been there in my absence. The narrow cot bed still lay in the corner, nothing more than a few cardboard crates pushed together, with a few ragged blankets thrown over the top. That was all, except the broken glass on the floor. The stains, scattered across the dirty wooden floorboards, a mixture of my own blood and ejecta. Pulling myself towards the bed, I heard a clatter as I knocked something behind me and it fell to the floor. I spun around defensively, the torch flashing across the walls and floor. But it was only my old guitar, lying there helplessly on its back like some overgrown wooden insect. It looked even worse than I remembered, its nylon strings twisted and stretched out of shape, and the varnish almost entirely chipped from the wood. But I scrabbled for it all the same, holding it to me.

Cradling the wooden body in my arms, I expected to cry. But no tears came here, nothing. As I ran my fingers across the strings, I felt nothing. I didn't know anymore than I had. They weren't here! But they had promised, they had promised they would tell me the truth when I was eighteen. I was here, but there were no answers, and this place held nothing for me. As I looked around the little cupboard I realised the truth, and a howl ripped through my chest, shredding my throat as it hit the air. They weren't coming. It was all just another lie. My face twisted in agony, but I only allowed my composure to break for that split second, and then I sprang to my feet.

If they weren't here, the was no one to help me. I was utterly alone. And when Gerard and his family came looking for me (if, that is, they gave enough of a damn to wonder where I was.) This would be the first place they would think to check. They would stop me, they would bring me back, they would try and keep me alive. But I had waited eleven goddamn years to be able to die. Eleven years, so nobody could say I didn't try. Life and I had a brief relationship, but it was volatile and painful, and with those kinds of relationships, it's always best to just let go, like ripping a band-aid off. A clean break. But where could I go? Nobody would help me, and I didn't have anywhere else. I closed my eyes and forced my broken mind to think for one last time. Unbidden, Gerard's face swam into my thoughts. Laughing as we teased his parents, smiling mysteriously as he drew me, concentrating as he tried to teach me letters, worried as I looked at a picture he had drawn...

And then it came to me. That drawing.

The cliffs.

As I picked up my guitar, and ran for it, I wondered if I had always known on the inside that this was where it would end.

/

As I walked up the narrow rocky path, the trees on either side blocking my view of the river beneath, I hummed softly. I felt more peaceful than I had in so long. I refused to let myself think of the family who had taken me in. The few short weeks I had spent with them I did my best to erase from my mind, as though they had never occurred. The last day with Gerard...I wouldn't think of it. I did my best not to remember the hurt I saw in his eyes as I stayed away from him more and more. But I had always known it would end this way, it was best he forgot me as swiftly as possible. Donna, Donald, Mikey, Bob and Ray. They had their own lives, untainted by my darkness. It was too late for me, and now it was the end.

I held my guitar loosely in my arms. If Gerard had been able to draw my future (or my end, to be more precise) I might as well make it as realistic as possible. I was utterly exhausted. Bone-weary, so tires every step was an effort and every single motion made my muscles scream out in protest and agony. But I ignored it. I had had plenty of practice ignoring pain, and this was no different. I had never walked this far in my entire life, yet despite my body's complaints, my mind felt free and unclouded. I was alone, I was going to die.

It made me so happy.

As I reached the edge of the meadow, I took in a deep breath and let the fresh, crisp evening air permeate my body. It looked exactly as I remembered it in the autumn; the perfectly circular little green meadow, surrounded by golden brown, orange and red stained trees. At the far corner, the broken wire fence that prevented people from going too close to the edge. I couldn't see the edge yet, but I would soon. I began to walk forwards slowly, my feet dragging through the damp grass.

One hour until sunset.

I could see the river now, the shining ripples forming across the silvery surface, belying the horrendous power beneath. I couldn't see the bank closest to the cliffs, but I saw the way the water crashed over the rocks on the opposite side of the river, and wasn't surprised Gerard had mistaken it for the sea. I was only ten steps away from the fence, looking straight up into the sky. The calm, still sky; pale blue, with barely a cloud, barely a whisper of wind interrupting the tranquility of the atmosphere, the utter stillness. The perfect evening.

As I reached the wire fence, I ignored the warning sign, and ducked underneath.

A few more steps.

I was at the edge.

Just me, a tiny inconsequential human, looking down on the one power stronger than anything else in the universe. A power stronger than my hatred, my rage, my shame and my self-loathing. A power that could overcome my grief, a power that could defeat my pitiful life.

As the water roared and eddied far below me, crashing across the rocks over and over, I simply stood there, gazing at the force of nature that would take away my life.

I stood there a little longer.

After a while, I sat down, dangling my legs over the edge.

It was nice. Very calm.

I felt hollow now. No emotion, just empty.

Not even relief. No anger, no more hurting.

I picked up the guitar, and began to pluck. Words gently teased themselves from my mind, and I sang them softly. I wasn't a singer, I never would be. But it didn't seem to matter now.

"I have nothing left to give

I have found the perfect end

You were made to make it hurt

Disappear into the dirt

Carry me to heaven's arms

Light the way and let me go

Take the time to take my breath

I will end where I began

"And I will find the enemy within

Cause I can feel it crawl beneath my skin

"Dear Agony

Just let go of me

Suffer slowly

Is this the way it's got to be?

Dear Agony

"Suddenly the lights go out

Let forever drag me down

I won't fight for one last breath

I won't fight until the end

"Leave me alone

God let me go

I'm blue and cold

Black sky will burn

Love pull me down

Hate lift me up

Just turn around

There's nothing left

"Somewhere far beyond this world

I feel nothing anymore

"I feel nothing anymore"

/

I sighed softly. Music was so cathartic.

I looked at the sky.

Five minutes until sundown.

Maybe I was being ridiculously symbolic, but I didn't care. This was my death, I would do it however I liked. Below me, the cliffs fell away into the churning river, stark granite meeting unstoppable water.

Three minutes until sundown.

I let myself remember then. I had blocked so many memories away out of sheer necessity, but there was no need to hide from them now. I remembered all the people who had tried. Mama, Father, Grandma, Grandpa. All dead because of me. Would they forgive me if I ever saw them again? WOULD I see them again? Did an afterlife exist, and what would happen to me there? I closed my eyes again the glare of the suns last rays, clenching my hands around the neck of the guitar. It was eleven years since I realised God was not real, and did not love me unconditionally. But if I had still had the strength to believe, I would have been praying right then.

Two minutes until sundown.

Did Gerard love me? That thought sprang unbidden to my mind, but like all the other thoughts, I no longer bothered to hide it away. There was no point in hiding anymore. Did I love him? It didn't matter. Even if Gerard could have looked past my history, my broken mind and my ruined body, I could not have let him throw himself away with the likes of me. He was far, far too good for me. I took a deep breath, and released it.

One minute until sundown.

/

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/

**The next chapter should be up next week. There is very little I feel I can say about this chapter really, but if you are still reading by this point, thank you. **

_**"I have nothing left to give. I have found the perfect end"**_

**~Hana Belladonna**

**P.S. Would this be an inappropriate moment to suggest that CW4 (I.e. Kiss The Ring) is Gerard's request to Frank for a rimjob? Just throwing that out there... ;)**


	25. The World Is Ugly

**Right then lovelies, I suggest you get your Gerard heads on, as he's the only one you'll be hearing from over the next several chapters. **

**Enjoy, read, rejoice and all that jazz. **

**_People have started saying I'm too independent, too alone all the time. I even met someone else, but I had to leave, had to hurt her because I was so afraid it would turn out like Gee. What have you done Gee? Even after all this time, what have you left me to become?_**

_/_

_/_

_/_

When I took off running down the street, I had no thoughts in my head whatsoever except to get to Frank as fast as possible. I knew where he had lived once -we had driven past it while Frank was at home one day, and dad had pointed it out sadly, using it as an example of Frank's previous life. It was a set of council flats a few miles away; a few concrete towers marring the New Jersey skyline. It had chilled me at the time, the idea of Frank as a tiny child, growing up in those barren building, surrounded by abuse and pain, and no hope. I wondered how many more were trapped like that.

It was like suddenly all the hundreds of hints and clues he had left were flooding through my head, and I wondered how I could have possibly ever mistaken his intentions. There were so many occasions where I could have questioned him further but didn't. I should have made him tell me, I should have taken Ray's advice and told my parents everything!

_"Three months until what Frankie...?" I asked him, cradling my arms around him as he slumped next to the sink, shivering, streaks of vomit still decorating his chest. He shuddered, and turned slowly to look me in the eye so there was no mistaking him. "Three months until I can die, Gerard. Three months until I can end this ridiculous farce of a life."_

I could have forgiven myself if that was the only time. Anyone could forget a single conversation. But that wasn't all, there were other conversations, countless ones where I should have realised what he was telling me.

"_Frank" I began slowly._

_"There has to be a way here. This is chaos; this is just impossible to continue"_

_Frank didn't look at me, and didn't reply. I had seen the effect my anger had on him before, so I kept a tight hold of myself. "I just have to ask it Frankie. Do you want to die? Is this what it's about? Cause I've fucking been there, I know what its like!"_

_I could barely hear Frankie's shallow whisper "I don't want to die. Not yet."_

Not yet. Not then maybe, but he did now. It was like H all over again, and I had failed all over again.

I literally stuffed the letter in my pocket without reading beyond the first line, and began to jog. If there was even the slightest chance that I could save Frank...he had been gone for over an hour, but maybe...? I couldn't even let myself finished the thought, I just had to believe there was still hope. I was barely a few paces down the street though, when I heard someone shouting behind me. I span around quickly, painfully aware that every second the light was dying, there wasn't long until sundown, and after dark my chances of reaching him became near enough impossible.

I wasn't in the mood for explanations, so when I saw Mikey standing in the street, tall and lanky as ever, looking at me through his glasses as though I had lost my mind, I simply shouted at him to "come!" without thinking twice of the consequences. I turned and began running again, not caring whether or not he followed. But soon I heard feet pounding behind me, and Mikey caught up, his longer stride matching mine easily. "What's going on?" He asked sharply, keeping up seemingly without effort. I was already out of breath and exhausted, my smokers lungs making an unwelcome appearance. I barely managed to gasp out "Frank! Going to kill himself! Got to get there..." Before I ran out of breath.

Mikey swore sharply, but I could barely hear it through the pounding of my heart. I didn't do exercise, smoked, and never ate healthily. Now I was paying the price as my body pointed out exactly how unfit I was. We had barely gone half a mile and I was on the verge of collapse. Beside me Mikey ran smoothly, his breathing even and his strides confident. Stupid bastard, with his health regime.

I staggered to a stop on the sidewalk, my leaden legs literally refusing to take me any further, my head hanging down. "Gerard!" Mikey said loudly, shaking me. I slumped over, my hands on my knees, gasping for air. "Please Mikey, we need to run!" I said, sucking breaths in through my teeth. I began to run again, but Mikey grabbed my arm. "Gerard!" He said. "Alicia can drive, I'll call her and tell her it's an emergency and she needs to come get us!" I nodded, but my mind was telling me it would be too late by then. Frank needed me.

That thought speared my mind, and I began to run again. Frank needed me. It didn't matter how much agony spiked through my lungs at the unexpected sensation, it didn't matter that I thought my head was going to burst, or my heart explode. Frank needed me, I had to get there. Mikey kept running beside me, gasping instructions down the phone to Alicia but I wasn't paying attention. I focused on the beat of my feet hitting the sidewalk, over and over again, barely looking up to check we were going in the right direction, until suddenly we rounded a corner, and there it was. The concrete flat blocks.

I stopped still, gazing up. The walls were stained and graffitied. From inside a ground level flat, I could hear a baby crying, and as I looked to the left, there was a lone man wandering up the street in thick baggy clothes.

I should have just run straight up there, but I couldn't. I didn't know which flat it was, and I felt like I was struck dumb by the force of the moment. The realisation of what this place was, and what had happened here. I was shaking, and nausea rose in my throat at the sudden unexpected influx of lactic acid in my body. Was this what it felt like to be Frank all the time?

"Well?" Mikey said urgently, bringing me back down to earth. "I don't know. I don't know which flat it is" I said wretchedly, feeling panicked, looking around as though expecting the answer to jump out at me. I hadn't thought of this. Did we have time to search them all? I was on the verge of running over to knock at the nearest door, when I heard Mikey's sharp intake of breath beside me, followed by a low oath. By this point, I was so highly strung that I almost jumped out of my skin, and I turned only to see, to my surprise, Mikey staring at the man I had noticed before. He had slowly made his way towards us while I deliberated, He was tall and probably in his forties, but stooping in that way that men habitually adopt when they have no desire to be noticed. His clothes, as I had said, hung, baggy on his frame as though he had already been wearing them before losing a great deal of weight, and there was a shadow on his chin. There was nothing remarkable about him, and I wondered what had caught Mikey's attention.

The man looked at us, as he came closer, and there was no recognition in his eyes. His eyes slid past me and landed on Mikey, and he paused, seemed confused at the intense way Mikey was regarding him, a frown creasing between his eyebrows. Mikey stepped forward suddenly, and held out an arm, effectively stopping the man from passing us. "What are you doing here?" Mikey asked sharply, his tone confrontational. The man turned towards him, looking bemused. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" He asked quietly, his gaze flickering to the flats high above us, away from Mikey.

Mikey looked angry, and I was just about as confused as this man. "No you don't know me, but I'm pretty damn sure you know my girlfriend" Mikey said coldly. "I'm dating Alicia. Have been for about three years in fact. I recognise your face from her pictures. Now answer me; what are you doing here?"

I looked closer at the man, trying to understand the relevance. He was gazing at Mikey, with an expression appropriate to being clubbed over the head. "You...you know my Alicia?" He asked hoarsely. "She still has pictures of me?"

Mikey nodded, not seeming impressed. "Unfortunately. But I don't understand. They told us you were long gone, and she gave up asking about you a long time ago."

The man nodded, as though what Mikey was saying made perfect sense to him. I was trying to fill in the gaps here, work out what I was missing, when suddenly several things fell into place. The strong, slightly arrogant curve of his eyes, and that exact shade of blue grey. The dark hair, the slim build. I was looking at Alicia's father for the first time, and I had no idea how or why.

I was painfully aware of the time constraints on us, and the sun which was beginning to go down. But Alicia's father hadn't finished talking. "I would have left this town when her mother told me to." He said softly. "But there was a boy I had to stay for. I made a promise to his father, and you never break promises made to a fellow soldier."

"And why are you here now?" Mikey said, asking the questions that were running through my head, as I stood frozen.

"I'm here...I'm here looking for that boy" Alicia's father said softly. "He disappeared a few weeks ago. It's his birthday today, I was hoping he might come back."

"Frank Iero!" I said, out loud. I didn't mean to, but the words burst from my lips like a prayer before I could stop them.

Alicia's father turned to me, as though recognising my presence for the first time. "Yes" he said, looking bewildered. "How do you..."

Before the older man could finish the sentence, I launched myself at him almost without realising what I was doing, as I grabbed handfuls of his winter coat, almost shaking him as I gasped out the story in stilted phrases, and Alicia's father stood dumbstruck. "...and we ran here, we ran here but we don't know where he lives and we have to hurry, you have to help us!" I exclaimed, the terror which had been briefly banished during the shock of our confrontation now returning full force. I knew there were a thousand questions I needed to ask this strange man, and there were so many things I didn't understand. But there was no time for questions right now, they would have to wait until later. Would there be a later?

Alicia's father didn't say a word, barely let me finish the story before he yanked himself free of me and spun around. I had a brief moment of horror, before realising he was turning to a set of metal stairs, and began taking them two at a time with incredible speed and agility for a man his age, belying his ragged looks. Mikey and I followed blindly, running behind him, slipping on the steps, until we almost ran right into him. Looking up from my feet, I saw nothing at first. Then I stepped around Alicia's father, and we all came to a stop, as we were faced with an open door, creaking ominously in the slight wind.

I wanted to go in first, I really did. But fear was absolutely gripping me at what I might find in that hole. I had heard it described, I had seen Frank's mutilated body, I knew what they had done to him in there. Could I really enter? Before I could make up my mind, Alicia's father and Mikey headed straight through, Alicia's father taking the lead, and they walked into the black. I couldn't be left behind, and I quickly followed, only to walk right into Mikey in the dark, as he turned back. Mikey grabbed my shoulders. "He's not here Gerard!" He said, his voice tortured. "There's no-one here. Where do we go now?"

Mikey was right. As our eyes adjusted to the gloom, we could see that the bare, empty little room contained nothing at all. No furniture, no clues, nothing. At the far end, I could just make out a tiny door which led to a cupboard of some form, and I shrugged off Mikey, and headed towards it, hoping to find some form of hint in there. As I reached it, Alicia's father emerged. I couldn't see his face in the shadows, but his voice was hoarse as he said "He's been here. He's been and gone."

"How do you know?" I demanded immediately, stepping into the little cupboard room. I stumbled over something unexpected in the doorway, and leaned down to see what my foot had dislodged. It was a tiny metal torch, the kind children use. Not really expecting it to work, I picked it up and clicked the button, surprised when a tiny beam of light illuminated the little room. I nearly lost what Alicia's father had said in the interim as I looked around, and I asked him to repeat himself as I scanned the little room. "I said, his guitar is gone. It was here yesterday, and now it's gone." The older man said wearily, pointing at a narrow space on the floor that was clear of dust, escaping the thick coating which lay over everything else.

I nodded distractedly, still gazing around in horror at the place we were in. The filth and decay, and the few crates pushed together to make a bed, with a few rags draped over the top. Nothing I had seen in my comparitively sheltered life, or even anything I had heard from Frank, could have prepared me for this. The stench, and my god the bloodstains. So many bloodstains, all over the floor, the sheets, even the walls. I was on the edge of breaking down, and was about to concede, and call the parents, when I heard Mikey call something from the next room. "Gerard! You need to see this."

I turned and left quickly, pushing past Alicia's father where he still stood in the doorway, almost running over towards the tall dark shape I assumed had to be Mikey. "Well? What is it? " I asked frantically.

"Better come out into the light" Mikey said, still squinting through his glasses at something he held in his hands. I ignored that, and flicked on the torch again. The brightness blinded us momentarily, and then we could make out the two photographs in Mikey's hands.

They were old, that was for sure. Nobody had touched those photograph in god knows how many years. But the sepia tint couldn't disguise the scene we were looking at, as we gazed at the one on top. It was a group of people, standing in an awkwardly artificial pose, against the sky -but laughing as thought the photographer had just told a particularly funny joke. They were all clustered around a child of about four years old, who was being held by a girl right at the front of the group. A child, who despite the age of the picture, was unmistakeably Frank Iero. No amount of time passing could change the delicate facial structure, or the perfect double curve his lips made. I would have staked my life that it was him.

The girl holding him looked to be in her late teens, maybe early twenties. I remembered Frank telling me his mother had been a teen pregnancy, and the strong resemblance between the two made me think I was looking at a parent and child. I barely had time to process this, before I looked at the two people just behind the girl. A man and a woman, they were much older than the first two, looking to be in their late forties. The lines on their faces were weary, but their eyes lit up as they looked at the girl and child in front of them. Towards the edge of the photograph you could just make out the hand the man had around the woman shoulders, half embracing half resting. I tried to get my mind aorund the fact that I was looking at Frank's family for the first time. And, if Frank was to be believed, these people were now all dead. The thought sent chills down my spine, and without saying a word to Mikey, I quickly reached for the second photograph.

This one was different. It was just two soldiers, their arms slung loosely around each others shoulders, as they looking laughingly into the camera. The military uniforms would have been intimidating, but the two looked so young and carefree, it made a wonderful picture. It took me a whole ten seconds of staring before I realised the man on the left was Alicia's father.

"So he kept them then" a voice said heavily from behind us, and Mikey and I almost jumped out of our skin. Alicia's father moved forwards, and took the pictures from us, gazing at them, his expression unreadable.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Mikey cried, looking like he was barely resisting shaking Alicia's father. Before he could answer, I grabbed the first picture back, scanning it more intently. While the first time I had only looked at the people in the pictures, this time I focused on the background. And gasped.

I turned to Alicia's father. "Mr...?"

"Simmons. Dr. Simmons" the man offered.

"Dr Simmons, what do you know about these pictures?" I said quickly.

Dr. Simmons looked sad for a moment. "I gave them to him many years ago." He said softly. "I needed to prove to him he could trust me, that I had known his family. That man in the second photo is his father."

I knew I would have time to ruminate on the small questions later, and I stored this away as another detail that needed to be cleared at a later date. But for now, I didn't have time. It was the first picture I needed to focus on. I wanted to know why I could see in the background of the first picture, somehow, unbelievably, the very landscape I had drawn into my own drawing of Frank at home -a landscape I had only seen in my dreams. I wanted to know why Frank, his mother and his grandparents were all standing somewhere behind the edge of a set of cliffs, my cliffs. And I wanted to know where it was.

Without any time to explain about the drawing, or the missing guitar, or the significance I was suddenly drawing from both, I frantically asked Dr. Simmons where the first picture had been taken.

Looking surprised at the question, Dr. Simmons answered me. "That picture, I believe, was taken at the Palisade cliffs. The family liked to go there some weekends."

And just like that, I knew where Frank was. I didn't have time to second guess, I didn't have time to remind myself how ridiculous it was that I was hanging all my hopes on a dream I had once had. I just had to believe he would be there, because this was the last chance we might have to save him.

Now, how were we going to get there?

Just as I was forming my thoughts into coherent words, and trying to explain to Dr. Simmons and Mikey why I knew Frank would be there, and why we had to hurry, the door which had drifted shut, opened with a bang. Light flooded the room, and we squinted at the sudden appearance of another person.

"Mikey! I got your messages, I drove here as fast I could. What happened?!"

A figure was suddenly illuminated in the doorway, looking like nothing more or less than an angel, appearing to save us all.

I could only grasp the briefest aspects of the situation for a moment: Alicia was here, and she had a car.

But I only had time for a brief thank god, before I realised who else was in attendance.

Namely, the father she hadn't seen in over eleven years.

_Oh shit._

_/_

_/_

_/_

**Well, this is interesting. I wonder what will happen next.**

**Oh wait, I already know what will happen next. You don't? Oh, well isn't that just a pity. **

**Ahem, my apologies. Yeah this was originally written as one enormous long chapter, but it became so long that I gave up and split it in half. But so you forgive me for that amendment, the second half will be up TOMORROW. Because if I was you, I wouldn't be able to wait a week either. **

**"I don't want the world to see me...cause I don't think that they'd understand." **

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**

**Oh p.s. For those of you who don't know, I'm one of those fag artist types, as so wonderfully scripted in TDK. I just got a DeviantArt account, so if you want to see more of the inane, ridiculous, potentially deeply traumatising nonsense that comes out of my head, check me out. There's even a picture of me there! (Covering eyes to prevent injury highly recommended)**

** hanabelladonna . deviantart (Remove spaces)**


	26. But You're Beautiful To Me

**Part two has arrived! And for those of you telling me I am cruel for keeping up the suspense for another chapter...just remember, this update could have been weeks away -not less than a day! So love me! For I have updated.**

**I'm also kind of high on caffeine. This pleases me. **

_**One day, perhaps I'll just wake up, and realise I've forgotten her name. That I can't remember the shape of her eyes, the scent of her perfume, or how soft her skin felt under my fingers. Maybe then, one day, I can start to live again. **_

/

/

/

Dr Simmons and Alicia were staring at each other as though...well as though they hasn't seen each other in a decade.

Or rather, Dr Simmons was staring at Alicia with the kind of expression that accompanies not having seen ones own daughter for over a decade. It was slightly more difficult for Alicia to return the stare, considering she had to focus on the steering wheel. But somehow she managed it, which did nothing for my sense of security.

We were driving jerkily, with as much speed as Alicia could coax out of her little car, down the narrow roads that led to the cliffs. Mikey and I just sat in the backseat in frozen silence, holding on to the sides of the seats with a death-grip, not saying a word. There was so much to be said, and so many things that needed to be answered, but right now none of them could be -which was partially down to the driving, but mostly down to the unbearable anxiety which filled the little vehicle, as we contemplated what we would find at the other end. We were all linked by the single factor of Frank Iero, and right now we couldn't afford to shatter the fragile bonds linking us together.

We were jolted forwards in our seats, as Alicia took a sharp right hand turn down another narrow road, and Mikey and I exchanged looks.

_You never said your girlfriend was such an awful driver_. I accused him silently with my eyes.

_Did you want to walk then?_ Mikey's eyes seemed to be saying back, as he shot me a glare.

I ignored him, looking out the window as the trees rushed past the road. Or was it us rushing past the trees? I couldn't tell, I was looking for signs, anything to tell us that we were getting closer.

Just as I was on the edge of giving up hope, another sharp turn yanked us tight against the seat-belts, and Alicia pulled into a tiny dirt car-park, signposted as 'The Hudson River.' It was deserted and bare, the last rays of the sun barely illuminating the little square of dirt that humans had carved out of the surrounding forest. We were the only car in the lot at this time, the sun nearly gone. At the end of the car-park, I could see the beginning of a trail, and I released myself quickly and tumbled out of the car, ridiculously relieved to be on solid ground again.

Mikey followed, and so did, I believe, Dr Simmons and Alicia. But I didn't care, barely noticed whether or not they were still there. The sign pointing to the little trail told us that it was the right direction if you wanted to reach the Palisade Cliffs, and that was enough for me. I was within reach, and the moment I had confirmed the right direction, I took off.

I was running again, alone up this little dirt track, and I really needed to work on fitness. If I had thought the run to Frank's flat was bad, this uphill unsurfaced route was a thousand times worse. With every step, my calf muscles burned and ached, my thighs protested and my lungs expanded agonisingly. Thorns caught at my jeans and ripped, but I barely noticed. As the light faded, the tall looming trees overhead cast a menacing glare on the tiny human that had thought to invade their forest, and I shuddered, even as I forced myself onwards. I paused at the top of a particularly steep section, retching into the dirt, watching my lunch coat the ground in streaks of vomit. I wanted to stand still in shock that I had just thrown up from exhaustion, but the was something harder in my mind now. Something cold and focused, forcing me to push past the pain and continue.

With every step now, it began to get easier. Nothing had changed, the pain was still there. But I rejoiced in it now. Every screaming protest in my body only pushed me further and harder, as I forced my legs and arms to work in tandem. Sweat dripped down my forehead and into my eyes, stinging, and I swiped a hand across my face. I had thrown off my hoodie somewhere halfway along the route, and my t-shirt was sticking to me. All I could hear was the racing of my heart and the pounding of my feet, the thin branches that whipped against my face, lacerating it until the blood dripped freely. I smiled grimly, gritting my teeth against the pain. I had left the other three far behind. Mikey was the only one with a prayer of reaching me, but I didn't even care. This wasn't their race, this was mine, I was the one who had someone to save, and something to prove.

That was the only thought in my head as I burst through the trees into a tiny clearing, the last of the branches slapping me rudely across the cheek. Air burst from my lungs in a last frantic gasp, and I took in the tiny meadow in which I now stood. It was almost perfectly circular, this little green meadow, surrounded by golden brown, orange and red stained trees. At one end I could hear the rushing roar of water, and as I turned towards that edge, I saw a broken down wire fence, a sign flapping in the wind proclaiming it to be a warning against getting to close to the edge. The edge.

I walked quickly and carefully, not thinking about what I might find. I couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything, but he had to be here! He had to be!

As I reached the wire, I ducked under the warning sign, and looked around. Yes, this was the place from the picture. It was the place I had drawn, and I smiled ruefully as I realised I had drawn the sea when it was only a river all along. How typical of me. But not just a river, the rushing and roaring water was terrifying to behold. This was the place I knew Frank would be, but he wasn't there! I could see the edge only a few feet away, and he wasn't there!

My shoulders slumped, and I fell to my knees, waves of exhaustion crashing over me as hot tears trickled down my cheeks. I had been too late again. There was no-one and nothing here, except the emptiness of the sky and the river, where the cliffs joined the water. I had to leave, I knew. I needed to go back and tell them all that he was gone, that I had let little Frankie die. But I couldn't bring myself to move, I just lay there, letting the pain wash over me.

Then I heard it.

How I managed to hear anything over the crashing of the water on the rocks was beyond me, but I heard it.

A low moan, coming from the direction of the edge. Like a wounded animal, letting out its dying breath.

Pushing myself onto my hands and knees, I crawled through the damp muddy grass. As I came within a few feet of the edge, I lay down, and shuffled forwards on my stomach so I could look over. Dizzying waves of vertigo were threatening to overcome me, but I managed to push myself enough to hang my head over the edge, and see what was below.

The shock of what I saw nearly sent me tumbling over the edge to join the river. I clung to the edge with all my might, my barely able to believe my eyes.

Just below the edge of the cliffs, perhaps only ten feet or so lower, there was an outcropping ledge of rock. Barely more than a little stone shelf, it pushed away from the cliff, completely out of sight unless you were in the exact position I was now. And lying on that stone shelf, battered and bruised, cut and bleeding and broken, but very much alive, was Frank.

His tiny body barely fit on the outcrop, and it was a miracle he had landed on it. I couldn't see his head, as he lay crumpled on one side, clearly unable to move. But there was blood everywhere, so much blood on that shelf. He was still breathing though. I could see the rise and fall of his body, and he wasn't dead yet.

Pulling myself frantically back from the edge, I turned to the clearing, but there was nobody there yet. Hadn't they got here? Where were they, hadn't they run just as fast as I had to get here?! Just as I was debating whether to go for them, or to Frank, they burst through the trees in a rush. Mikey and Alicia were holding hands, and he wrapped his arms around her as they straightened up and looked around. Dr. Simmons wasted no time, hurrying towards me where I knelt by the edge. "Gerard!" He shouted, while he was still halfway across the meadow. "Is he...?"

"He's alive!" I screamed, "he's here! I can't get to him, I need your help!"

Dr Simmons broke into a run again, reaching me within moments. I pointed at the edge, beyond words. Dr Simmons knelt down, then mirrored me, leaning over until he caught sight of Frank's tiny body, resting precariously on the edge. His face went from red from exertion, to absolutely white. Pulling back, Dr Simmons turned to me desperately. "Are you sure he's alive?" He demanded. I nodded, yes. "I saw him breathing, I swear!"

I didn't even have time to ruminate on what to do, because Frank was down there, and he needed my help. I began to shake, a delayed reaction from the exercise, and sheer terror at what I was about to attempt. I was not a climber, I had never been. But I needed to get down there. I began to turn myself around by the edge, preparing to lower my body over the side, when Dr Simmons grabbed my arm tightly. "What do you think you are doing?" He hissed. "Getting down there! I have to help him!" I choked out.

Dr Simmons shook his head furiously, then a mask dropped over his face, turning him ice cold. He glared at me, then proceeded to take control of the entire situation. Right then as far as I was concerned, it didn't matter who he was, or what was wrong with him, or why he was here. I was just appreciating that the was an adult in the vicinity who could take control. Mikey and Alicia looked as bad as I felt -we were nothing but terrified children at the end of the day. Dr Simmons stood up, and pulled me away from the edge, then turned to Mikey and Alicia, who were standing a few metres back looking absolutely terrified. "Michael. And Ali..." Dr Simmons' voice seemed to fail as he addressed his daughter, and he shook his head, turning to Mikey. "Michael. Can you call 911?" Mikey shook his head, seeming paralysed. "No, there's no signal up here" he said quickly, waving his phone at us.

Dr Simmons nodded. "Okay. Both of you, run until you find signal. If you can't get through, drive until you're out of the forests and you can! Tell them where we are, tell them the entire situation, and make sure they know they'll need to airlift him out" he rattled off, fixing his eyes on the pair intently. Mikey straightened up, and nodded. I was sure that he, like me, was beginning to see the military man that Dr Simmons had apparently once been. Mikey grabbed Alicia's hand again, and they began to run back the way they had come.

Ignoring me completely, Dr Simmons turned to the edge and stuck his head over again. Seeing Frank lying there seemed to bolster him, and he turned to me grimly. "Okay then, you're going to have to get down there" he said. Seeing the terror written plainly across my face, he sighed. "I'll help you. But if Frank stays there, he could roll off the edge. He needs someone down there to hold him in place and make sure he doesn't fall. And if he wakes up, you'll have to stop him from moving."

I nodded, determined not to fail, if there was a chance we could still save Frank. Next thing, Dr Simmons pulled his long cotton scarf from around his neck, and ripped it into several long strands with his strong hands. Plaiting and knotting them together with a deftness that surprised me, the man then turned to me, and without a word or explanation, knotted the rope around my waist, wrapping the other end tightly around both his wrists. Turning to the edge, Dr Simmons instructed me to lie down with my feet facing towards the edge. I did so, and then followed the instruction to shuffle slowly backwards, until I felt the ground beneath me begin to give way, my feet and ankles hanging in empty space.

I wanted to freeze in fear, but Dr Simmons didn't give me time to, forcing me further backwards into space. Only the thought of Frank, unconscious, alone and potentially dying beneath me, could make me carry on. Painfully slowly, my knees and then thighs hung over the edge, until my stomach was pressed against the pivotal point, and I knew if I continued there was no going back. Catching the Doctors eye again, I nodded grimly, trusting him with my weight, and then slid slowly over the edge. My hands hung on tightly to the tufts of tough grass that grew near the edge, ignoring where the strands became sharp and cut me. My feet hung in the emptiness for one terrifying moment, and then I pressed them against the cliff wall in relief, almost weeping as I found a foothold. Dr Simmons was taking most of my weight, but painfully, painfully slowly I began to move down the side of the cliff. Ten feet didn't seem like much in the abstract, but it was forever when every moment your muscles are protesting, your hands are going numb from the cold, and your feet are slipping on the icy rocks.

When I reached the ledge, I only realised when my feet couldn't go any further down. I looked behind me, and down, and gasped as I realised I was right on level with Frank. He lay turned away from me, his dark clothes soaking wet from the river spray, which reached us even here. I couldnt see his face from the way his head was turned, but he looked mostly intact, to my utter relief. Quickly, but carefully, I slid my feet sideways, until I could crouch on the narrow rocky shelf. Unknotting the makeshift rope from around my waist, I gave it two sharp tugs, before Dr Simmons began hauling it back up over the edge again. Then I looked around, and wondered what on earth I was going to do now. There was barely space on the ledge for Frank's body, let alone another teenage boy. Finally, seeing no other solution, and praying Frank didn't have spinal injuries, I crouched down, pressing my body tightly against the wall, and slid my arms underneath his shoulders. Franks head lolled sickeningly as I somehow simultaneously lifted him, and slid my body under himm so I was sitting on the ledge. My arms about to give out, I settled Frank back down, his head resting in my lap.

Now, we were safe. For the moment. I ran my hands through Franks hair, experimentally lifting the strands. They were sticky with mud, and also with blood, which as far as I could see came from a huge lump on his forehead, which was already turning purple, and was mostly responsible for the streaks of scarlet across his white, filthy face. But Frank was definitely still alive.

Frank was here, he was in my arms and I could feel him breathing. When I rested my fingers against his neck, I could feel a strong pulse beat under my shaking fingers. I had made it in time! I barely noticed when I started crying, the tears of fear and stress and grief that had been building all afternoon finally coming out. I tried to stay as still as possible, but I was shuddering and choking as I tried to accept the fact that he was really still here. I cradled him tenderly in my arms, and kissed his cheek as gently as I could, feeling the cold skin beneath my lips.

I didn't kow how long we would have to wait to be rescued, but I knew I need to stay awake and functioning for Frank, to make sure he didn't fall. After all, we were lying on an outcrop of rocks, while hundreds of metres below us, a river churned and smashed against much sharper and more dangerous rocks. It was pitch black by this point, and if Dr Simmons had tried to say anything I wouldn't have heard it over the noise of the water. At any moment the outcrop could give way and sent us plummeting, or Frank could wake up in agony, or any number of horrific things could happen

But it didn't seem to matter, not while he was here. I didn't even care.

Because it was just me and Frank, and he was here and he was alive. That was all I needed.

/

I didn't know how many hours had passed before I heard the sounds. I was frozen to the bone, almost as cold as Frank felt in my arms. Both of us, like living statues poised on this tiny little space that time forgot.

I must have unintentionally fallen asleep, drifting off into a light, fitful slumber in spite of the surroundings, and I jolted awake each time with a familiar sense of terror that I had somehow let go of Frank in my sleep. But I never did, he was still there in my arms, still breathing miraculously. I wrapped my arms tighter around him, in spite of the fact that I could no longer feel my hands, and my fingers were a sickly white and purple as all the blood left them. I began to chew on my lips, the pain forcing me to stay conscious. I felt when my teeth broke through and warm metallic blood flooded my mouth, but I didn't stop. I needed to stay focused, to hold onto Frank until help arrived.

When the whirring started, I barely believed it was real at first. I thought I had fallen asleep again, and my mind could make no sense of this strange sound. But the wind was whipping more fiercely against my face than before, in a regular rhythm which was enough to force me into wakefulness, as these strange sounds filled the air. I looked up, squinting in the dark, to see to my surprise, a series of bright lights, coming from something hovering in mid-air. My exhausted mind couldn't seem to understand what was happening, until a brighter light suddenly flashed over us, highlighting our figures, on our stone seat.

Then suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, there was a figure next to us. Suspended seemingly in mid air, I realised a moment too late it was a man, being lowered on a rope from the craft. The man seemed to be speaking to me, shouting urgent questions, but I simply stared at him, too tired to understand what he meant. Giving up, the man simply leaned forwards, and grabbed my arms, forcing them one by one through a series of straps under my arms and around my waist. While I slumped there, aware I should be doing something, but unable to move, the strange man hanging in the air did something similar to Frank. When he tried to move Frank's head from my lap, to put on him some strange plastic contraption that my mind vaguely recognised as a neck-brace, I came to myself slightly, hissing at the man, and winding my arms tighter around Frank.

Apparently giving up trying to speak to me, the man simply broke my grip matter of factly, and rolled Frank onto the strange plastic stretcher-type thing that I hadn't realised was hanging next to us. Tightly strapping Frank down by his arms and legs, and across his waist, the man then said something unintelligible into a device next to his mouth, and without further ado, Frank began to rise into the air, strapped tightly to the board, suspended in some kind of harness.

All I could register was that they were taking him away from me, and I tried desperately to reach for him, my hands grasping at empty space. "Fr-Frank!" I cried, as he rose higher and higher, until he reached the bright lights somewhere far above me.

The man next to me adjusted my harness one last time, and then pulled on the ropes again. With a jerk, I was suddenly lifted from the ledge into the air, rising steadily past the cliffs. The man was still hanging next to me, rising at the same pace. As we reached the strange craft which I slowly realised was a helicopter, there were hands all over me suddenly, pulling me inside. Part of me wanted to object to this handling, but I was too weak to protest, even as I was strapped onto a similar stretcher to Frank.

Frank! Where was he!? I managed choke out his name, searching with my eyes which didn't seem to be working properly. All I could see was dark figures moving around, and bright lights.

I didn't understand.

One of the figures detached itself, and came towards me. The figure bent, pushing my hair away from my face. "Sh...he's safe now. You're safe. You can sleep now Gerard, you saved him..." The person whispered.

I needed to ask more, I needed to find Frank. But my weariness overcame me, and I could fight against it no longer. As I slipped into darkness, I was aware of my own voice mumbling his name over and over. "Frank..."

/

/

**The End. **

**Nah just kidding ;) Don't we all love near death situations? **

**Are you all happy now I didn't kill him? Good. Excellent. **

**See you all next week!**

_**"You see there's no real ending...it's only the beginning. Come out and play..."**_

**-Hana Belladonna xoxoxox**


	27. Save Yourself (I'll Hold them Back)

**Here we are again! Happy faces everyone. Smile, it's nearly valentines day. **

**Valentines Day can fuck right off :)**

_**No more posts about Gee. It's been long enough now. **_

_**/**_

/

/

The last thing I remembered was that disembodied voice.

When I woke up, I wasn't sure of where I was. I wasn't sure of what was going on, who was there, or anything really. In fact I was only certain of one thing to be honest: I had the fucking mother of all headaches. The pounding behind my eyes was torturous, and all I could focus on, even as I tried to collect my thoughts. Had I been drinking the night before? I wondered. But this was worse than any hangover I had ever experienced, even in my worst drinking binges.

I could hear voices nearby, but they were just a distracting buzz in the background, and I couldn't make out their words. But it was enough to let me know that there were other people here, in this room with me. Now admittedly every single action film I had ever seen in my short life had told me the same golden rule - if you wake up in strange place unable to move, the best thing to do is stay quiet and pretend to be still asleep until you have more information. But I was far too keen to know what the hell was going on to listen to this excellent advice. Stay quiet? Not me! I opened my mouth warily, but as it turned out, it was all in vain. I tried to say something, but my tongue didn't seem to be working. In fact it felt swollen and heavy in my mouth, and no sound was forthcoming. In lieu of any better options, I opened my eyes a sliver, the bright lights making me flinch backwards into the pillows. Well that solved one mystery; wherever I was, it certainly wasn't at home. Nobody in the family would be stupid enough to turn bright lights on in my bedroom if they wanted to continue their existences. Even Frankie knew better. Hell, he hated light worse than me.

I catalogued the information I currently held. I was awake, in a room with other people, and there were bright lights. It really wasn't a lot to go on in the grand scheme of things. There was something niggling in my head as well, like an added distraction, and I had the horrible feeling it was something important I was forgetting - I could just tell. Sods law and all. Something to do with Frankie perhaps...? I wracked my brains trying to remember, giving myself a monster of a metaphysical headache but drawing nothing more than a depressing blank and a throbbing point over my left eye as reward for my trouble. I broke my own rules then, and hissed between my teeth in irritation and pain, unable to help the exclamation bursting through my lips which had been previously more or less glued together. The voices abruptly stopped, before starting up again a lot closer, sounding frantic. I could make out one in particular, piercing past the others. "Gerard? Gerard are you awake?"

That voice was familiar. Very familiar. Bracing myself against the painful onslaught of light, I opened my eyes and squinted through the headache, to make out the fuzzy figure of my mother leaning over me. At least I thought it was my mother. My vision was slightly off, and there were spots dancing in front of my eyes as I attempted to focus. But it was definitely the blonde hair and slight figure I had grown up with. Now they knew I was awake there was no going back. Giving it one last shot, I opened my mouth to try and say something, but nothing came out. I hissed again, this time in extreme annoyance. Another figure in white who I hadn't previously noticed, appeared behind my mother. I would have called her an angel, but last time I checked angels weren't supposed to wear that cheap cotton-polyester blend. Or were they? Lets face it, what would I know about Heaven? Plenty about Hell perhaps, but the other one?

The strange angel noticed my trouble and held a plastic cup to my lips, tilting gently so the liquid trickled over my baked lips. Now there was water in my mouth I was suddenly aware of how incredibly thirsty I was, and I tried to gulp the fluid down greedily. Sadly for me, the figure in white wasn't as enthusiastic about the immediete replacement of liquid in my body as I was, taking the cup away and chiding me gently to "take it easy." A damp cloth was wiped over my lips, breaking the seal of cracks I could feel across them, and I coughed experimentally, finding my voice at last.

"M-mom" I croaked, my eyes beginning to adjust to the light. "Oh Gerard!" My mother cried out in exclamation, with the air of a woman who has a thousand things to say, and cannot decide whether to begin scolding immediately, or express her relief at my survival briefly first. She was silhouetted against the ceiling above me as she hesitated for a moment, before she leaned forwards and crushed me into a hug against her chest, holding me tightly in a way she hadn't done since I was five. I personally couldn't decide if this was a welcome comfort, or a frightening level of personal space invasion. I had just abut decided on the latter, when I saw the strange angel - who was in fact, sadly not looking very much like an angel or any kind of mythical being, but more like a doctor or nurse clad in cheap white hospital robes now I could see properly - leave the room quietly, but I couldn't think about her with any small modicum of my brain, because I was being suffocated by a pair of arms like twin boa constrictors wound around my neck.

"Never, ever do that to me again!" Mom gasped, peppering my face with kisses inesscently, and holding me even tighter if possible. "Mom" I squirmed, embarrassed, and entreated her; "Mom, let go." Pulling away reluctantly, mom looked at me for a long moment, before shaking her head angrily and bursting into tears. "You stupid, stupid boy you could have been killed!" She gasped. This outburst of emotion was quite out of character for my mother and I wasn't quite sure how to handle it successfully, especially when I wasn't too sure of the cause either. I settled with patting her on the back awkwardly.

"Now Donna, calm down" said a deep voice quietly, and I looked up to see my father sitting on a chair in the corner. Seeing me looking at him, he nodded at me. "Gerard. Good to see you awake." My dad said evenly, with the air of a man reserving judgement. In spite of his voice though, there was a profound relief in his eyes I couldn't understand. I was completely and utterly confused. Now my eyes were working and the pounding in my head had subsided to a dull ache, I looked around the little room I was in. White walls, a dodgy looking pot plant in the corner, and me in some weird bed in the middle. It took me a minute to put all the pieces together. "Hey...am I in hospital?" I asked sharply, confused as hell.

Mom managed to dry her eyes, but kept a tight hold of my hand. Seeming to pull herself together, she somehow apologised for her outburst, without letting go of me. I nodded, and waited for her to answer my original question. But it didn't come from my mother. My father stood up from the chair in the corner, and walked towards me. Now he came closer, I could see the dark circles under his eyes that matched my mothers, and the 5pm stubble that was looking more like 5am the next day stubble. "Gerard." He said seriously, and I could tell he was using his 'professional' voice. "Do you remember what happened yesterday?" I wracked my brains, but all I could remember was school, Mikey, Frank. All the usual. The last thing I remembered was Frank sitting with me doing his letters.

I shook my head awkwardly. "No...why am I here?" I asked. Dad looked awkward and slightly concerned, and I looked at mom hopefully but she was just looking at my father. "Gerard, last night you saved Frank's life" he said carefully. "It looks like for whatever reason, and god knows how or why, Frank managed to almost fall off a cliff while you were all walking. Mikey and Alicia ran to get help, while you somehow stayed with him and stopped him from falling." At this point my father's iron composure seemed to slip briefly, and he clenched his hands by his side. "When the ambulance helicopter reached you, you were both sitting on a tiny ledge halfway down a cliff in the middle of the night, with some man claiming to be a doctor, waiting on the cliffs above." Looking at me closely, dad raised an eyebrow. "And before you answer, you need to know the police want to talk to you to. Something to do with a runaway soldier, a psychologist and a case of mistaken identity"

I thought about it. This sounded familiar. I didn't even have time to feel horrified at the thought of what my father had described with Frank, because I was straining so hard to remember. I ran through the events in my head, desperately trying to understand, until suddenly the dam seemed to break in my head, and I remembered absolutely fucking everything. "Oh!" I gasped, falling back against the pillows as I remembered the night before. The running, the flat, the cliffs, the photographs and Dr Simmons. It flooded back to me in a rush of events and sensations, and I began to struggle to get out of bed as I realised the most significant part.

Frankie.

"Where do you think you are going?" Mum cried, as I tried to move. "I need to find Frank, where is he - is he okay?" I babbled, unable to believe I hadn't remembered right away. Mum nodded at me, while dad grabbed my arms and refused to let me move. "Gerard!" Dad suddenly shouted, cutting me off mid sentence with shock. "Frank is going to be fine." Dad continued more quietly. "You can see him later. But right now, we need to know what happened last night. Mikey and Alicia seemed unable to tell the police anything except that you were all walking and Frank fell."

With my newly clarified, functioning mind, I could see immediately what Mikey and Alicia had done. By keeping Frank's secret, they were leaving the option of whether or not to tell the truth with me - the person who knew Frank the best, and could make the best choice regarding him. They had essentially put me in loco parentis; to act in the role of a guardian. I was utterly grateful to them. I had to think about it though. I had kept Frank's secrets before, and he had nearly died. I had tried to fix him, tried and tried until I couldn't try anymore. I had done everything I could to stop the harming, stop the vomiting and hiding of food but it hadn't worked. Frank had tried to kill himself.

I remembered what Ray had said to me as we walked down the road towards home, that day that day that already seemed a lifetime ago.

"Get him help Gerard." Ray had said. "Get him help, or he will die."

And he had nearly died. Suddenly the enormity of the situation overwhelmed me, and I realised no matter how much I wanted to, I could not save Frank by myself. If I tried to do it all alone, Frank would keep on trying to kill himself. One day he might succeed. I didn't know what would happen if I turned Frank in to my parents and the authorities, and I knew he might never forgive me. But I would sacrifice anything if it would give him a chance to get better.

I took a deep breath, and turned to both my parents, who were looking at me with expectant faces. "Last night, Frank tried to kill himself." I said wearily. Ignoring my mothers gasp of horror, and my fathers disbelieving look, I continued steadily. "How we got there in time to save him is a long story. Frank is bulimic and anorexic. The food you make, he doesn't eat it and when he does he throws it up later." I couldn't look at my mother anymore, and I focused on the white sheets underneath me as I kept speaking, my voice beginning to crack. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I thought I could deal with it by myself, I didn't want to betray his trust. I thought he would get better." The tears that had been prickling began to flow now, and I began to cry silently as I kept talking. Mom said nothing, but she gathered me into her arms as I cried. "He wanted to die! He still wants to die. And I tried, I tried to fix him but I couldn't and he nearly died and it's my fault and I'm so sorry!" I choked, sobbing on my mother, breathing in her soft scent and letting go like I hadn't in years.

Mom said nothing, but held me tightly. Dad cursed, and slammed his hand down on the bedside table, the impact of his fist causing a glass to fall and shatter across the floor with a loud crash. "Why didn't you tell us this?" He thundered, fixing his eyes on me. Through his tears, I tried to answer him but I couldn't form coherent sentences. Mom shushed him, and held me closer. I was completely beside myself, like my entire world had just been turned upside down. I had told them, there was no going back now. Would they take Frankie away from me? I gazed at the pieces of broken glass on the floor, the water spilling across the blue linoleum floor.

Somehow, in spite of my tears, I asked mom warily if Frank would be taken away, and she said no. But there was no conviction in her eyes, and she wasn't making eye-contact. Dad was pacing furiously when a nurse came quickly in, no doubt alerted by the sound of the breaking glass. In spite of the scene before her - myself a sobbing mess in mom's arms, dad looking less like a father and more like a force of nature - she took it all in her stride. Knowing better than to interrupt us, she quickly directed a much younger nurse to clean up the glass, before turning to my father and asking if she could get him anything.

"Yes" My father said stonily, turning to her with obvious irritation. "Access to a phone, computer, a list of Frank Iero's medical records - and preferably a cup of strong coffee or two while you're there." When the nurse faltered, he raised an eyebrow at her in the same way he had at me, as if to say 'Yes? Is there a problem?'

The nurse scuttled from the room.

After another impatient sigh, my father followed her.

It's easy to see where I got my short temper and caffeine addiction from. It was in my blood.

/

When I had managed to recover myself sufficiently - which was fairly quick. It was unbelievably weird cuddling with my mom - they let me sit up to blow my nose and drink some more water. I managed to regain control over myself long enough to remember another person who had been instrumental in last nights rescue.

"Mom" I said urgently. "What happened to Dr Simmons?"

"To who?" Mom said, looking confused. "Oh! You mean the man they found with you?"

I nodded quickly. "What happened to him? Where is he? Is he with Alicia?" I demanded.

"Why would he be with Alicia?" Mom said in bewilderment. "He's in police custody now. They want to question him about his disappearance while back in the US on leave from the front line - eleven years ago! He's an ex-soldier and a deserter Gerard, a dangerous man. You're all lucky nothing happened to you!"

"But..." I said slowly. "But he came to look after Frank. He's Alicia's father!"

Mom looked at me sadly, and smoothed her hand over my hair, stroking it down. "You hit your head very hard last night while they were rescuing you" she told me. "The edge of the helicopter is metal, and when they were lifting you in, you banged your head hard. It's natural you'll get a few things confused for a few weeks. Mikey and Alicia told us everything, released a full statement to the police, don't worry. They only need you to confirm."

Mum frowned though, her pretty face looking confused. "What I don't understand" she said slowly, "is why Mikey and Alicia think Frank fell."

I couldn't tell her that much until I'd spoken to the two of them. I was worried. But I had more important things on my mind, so I changed the subject. "When can I see Frank?" I asked yet again. Mom shook her head, not yet. "Frank isn't conscious yet" she told me. "His body had virtually started shutting down from injuries, cold and malnutrition working together. He's incredibly lucky to even be alive. The trauma to his head was so great his heart stopped beating twice in the night." I shuddered, thanking god I had gotten there in time. I couldn't bear it now, the thought of Frankie lying in another hospital bed somewhere in this same hospital, only with no one to hold him when he woke up.

"Is anyone with him?" I asked instead. "Yes" mom reassured me. "Mikey promised he and Alicia would swap on and off until Frank wakes up. Your father and I needed to stay with you though."

Somehow, I wasn't anymore relieved by this. Mikey and Alicia were playing a dangerous game here, by withholding information. I needed to find out why.

But my body didn't seem to want to co-operate, and I could feel my eyes growing heavy and my head starting to swim. Unwillingly, I slipped into sleep again.

/

When I awoke, I was alone at last.

From the darkness I could make out beyond the cheap blinds, I assumed it was somewhere in the middle of the night.

Well, that and all the lights were out and it was silent as the grave. I've always liked that expression, 'silent as the grave.' It reminds me of peace, and the idea that there is no afterlife - just the glory of silence and darkness forever.

At this rate I was getting as morbid as Frank though, so I snapped myself out of it in order to take stock of my situation. Looking around, I couldn't see any evidence of my parents being anywhere close by. The little room was empty, the door firmly closed, the chair in the corner unoccupied. Perfect.

Sitting up slowly, pushing the thin white hospital pillows behind my back for support, I examined myself. All my arms and legs seemed intact, and I couldn't find any broken bones. I wriggled my fingers experimentally, and all seemed to be in working order. It was only when I ran my hand over my head, that I felt the reason I was still in this building. A thick knot extended across the back of my cranium, a lump the size of a freaking ostrich egg on my skull. It felt tender and hot to touch, and I withdrew my fingers quickly.

Fucking ouch.

A least it explained why I was so tired and achy. But if I was tired and achy I could only imagine how Frank felt, scared and alone. Summoning my willpower, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed awkwardly. My head was spinning, and for a moment I thought I was going to be sick. I pressed my head between my knees, and waited for the dizziness to recede. When I thought I could stand, I slowly pushed myself to my feet with the help of the metal bed rail. I swayed for a moment, before my sense of equilibrium realigned itself and I was doing it. Standing, without help. I never thought I'd count that as an achievement.

Making my way slowly to the door, I pushed it open and peeked out. The corridor was lit up, but there was no-one in sight. I was about to leave, when I realised with horror that the draughty chill I could feel in my most personal areas, wasn't down to shocking underuse, but was in fact due to the baggy, open hospital pyjamas I was wearing.

Goddamnit.

Looking around the little room, I could see nothing that resembled appropriate clothing, so I resigned myself to the fact that I'd have to risk it. Stepping out, closing the door behind me, I chose a random direction and began to walk. Then it occurred to me that I could potentially use my current garb to my own advantage.

With a few white lies, and the odd acting skill.

/

The receptionist was really incredibly thick. Pretty I guess, if you liked the blonde, mass-engineered type. But thick as pig shit.

Her name tag read "Sarah Em" but I immediately christened her Blondie.

"...and I just can't remember which room I need to be in," I told her sadly. Blondie tried to pull her face into a helpful and intelligent expression. It looked like it took some effort. But she really didn't need to bother, I was doing all the work for her. "I went for a walk, and forgot to check which ward I came from!" I continued.

Blondie nodded sympathetically at me, and asked me my name. "Frank Iero" I told her. "If you just remind me which ward I'm in, I'll be fine getting back there."

Blondie taped a few keys on the computer with her manicured nails, and scrolled down the screen. "Uh huh..." She said. "Here we are. Mr Frank Iero, room 18A, third floor."

Nodding at her words, I was walking towards the lifts before she finished the sentence. "Wait!" She called to my back. I turned around reluctantly. "Yes?" I asked, raising an eyebrow like I'd seen my father execute to such effect earlier. Blondie seemed to be struggling to find the right words to fit her thoughts. I truly sympathised. It must be difficult, when you were limited to three letter words or less before your brain overloaded.

"According to this file...you're unconscious. You can't walk!" Blondie said, looking confused. Her face settled into the bewildered expression quickly, and I guessed it was her standard facial look.

"I heal fast" I told her, shooting her a wink, and continued towards the lifts.

When I turned around one last time, before the doors closed, her expression hadn't changed.

Poor thing.

/

I pushed open the door to the room carefully, wincing at the slight squeak from the hinges. It stood to reason they'd give Frank a private room - although I couldn't understand why I'd gotten one as a mere normal child - after all, children in the care of the state like Frank, were only allowed the best. My father regularly complained about the pro-suing society we lived in, and how services were terrified to give anything less than faultless care to the children legally entrusted to the government. Although I reminded myself, Frank was eighteen now.

Curiouser and curiouser.

The room was in darkness, the blinds drawn tightly. As my eyes adjusted, I made out the standard format of a bed in the centre and a chair in the corner. No points for imagination, hospital. Walking over to the bed slowly, I was just able to make out a dark lump under the covers. There was something wrong with the picture, and I gazed at the shape for a long moment before I realised. It was Frank, but he was lying perfectly straight, not curled up in a ball like he usually did. Face up against the pillows, he looked barely alive. His leg, his tiny, thin, fragile little leg was encased in some kind of metal cage, like a metal spider was crouched over his tibia. There were metal spokes piercing his leg too, but I chose not to look at them.

Frank's eyes were closed, and looked like they'd sunk even further into his face since the last time I saw him. In the dark, his pallid skin was translucent and looked as fragile as tissue paper. I was almost afraid to touch him in case I bruised him. His black hair had been shaved on one side, and I could see a bulky bandage wrapped around his head. Walking towards him, and leaning over carefully I experimentally ran my hands over his arms and other leg, and found what I was looking for, when I pulled the blankets back from his left wrist to reveal another thick bandage. I could feel lumps across his ribs which suggested strapped-up breaks, but I wasn't going to check. At least they'd taken the neck-brace off, so I could assume he had no spinal injuries.

Frank was in pieces, IV's running in and out of him wherever I looked. But he was still alive, and still here with me. I felt tears prickling again at the realisation that I had managed to save him, and brushed them away with irritation. I was a goddamn sentimental fool.

Pulling the chair closer to Frank's bed, I took his (right, un-injured) hand in mine, and bowed my head. The little clock on the wall told me it was 2am, which meant I wouldn't have to move from Frankie's side for at least another three hours. I concentrated on tracing the delicate skin across the back of his hand, following the map of veins.

Frank mumbled a little in his sleep, tugging on my hand unconsciously. I leaned closer, watching his eyeballs roll under his eyelids, as though whatever dream-land he currently inhabited was not to his liking. "Frank?" I whispered softly. Frank made no response or motion towards wakefulness, but tugged on my hand again. I moved from the chair to sit on the edge of the bed, but when his movements became more pronounced, I took my cue, and carefully and gingerly laid down beside him, stretched half on and half off the bed, terrified of disturbing his leg.

Frank murmured softly in his sleep, and tilted his head until it rested on my shoulder. His grip on my hand tightened briefly, then he appeared to relax into a more peaceful slumber. I lay tense, frightened I'd injure him further. But when Frank made no more motions, I relaxed also, stroking my thumb across his hand.

I didn't mean to fall asleep again, I really didn't.

/

/

/

**So, as of now he's still alive. This can only be interpreted as a good thing, right?**

**Also while I'm here, the quality of some of my earlier chapters (particularly 1-15) is infuriating me, considering I wrote them when I was only fifteen - and they're pretty damn awful. If there is any absolute ANGEL out there reading this who wants to edit them for me, and then help me beta the rest of the story, then I would be incredibly appreciative. But if you think you'll do one chapter and give up, in the nicest possible way, please don't waste both of our time. **

**If you are interested, hit me up via PM. You'll receive full credit for beta services, and potential one-shot or art rewards for being angels. **

_**"Cry, don't follow me home. You're just too perfect for my hands to hold..."**_

**~Hana Belladonna xoxoxox **


	28. DESTROYA

**Good day lovelies,**

**Forgive me, forgive me for going almost a month without updating. Real life was simply kicking my ass, what can I say? But this story WILL be completed on scheduale, even if I have to double up on my posting to succeed in it. **

**For those of you who are impatient, I suggest you simply check back on this story in August - which has been the estimated finish date from the beginning. **

**Also, to those of you who are asking for Franks POV...he's ****_unconscious_**** people.**

**/ Edited by She Who Throws Stones \\**

/

/

/

I got lucky. Luckier than I deserved to, falling asleep in Frank's room.

Whilst I slept quietly next to Frank, the hospital world still revolved around us. We lay undisturbed in the quiet of the private room, like an oasis of silence. As if we were some twisted version Adam and Eve in our own personal Eden. Except no version of Eden would contain so many beeping machines and lights. And I'm sure the fragrance of the first garden of the world smelt better than the miserable antiseptic hospital stench that still hurt my nose like I was inhaling bleach. And of course we were both male, and there was certainly no God watching over us. Sinners and suicides were featured pretty high on God's shitlist last time I checked. But who was counting that? I was with Frank. That was all I needed.

Fortunately, nobody came to check on Frank until the next morning. Luck must have been on my side because the first two people that walked in that morning were the very two I needed to see. For once, it seemed providence had decided to play nicely. I admit, though, that I wasn't quite as thankful as I ought to have been. Being shaken awake by anyone is an unpleasant experience. Dreamland is one of the rare blissful experiences that doesn't require narcotics, and being wrenched from that transcendence reminds me of the pain of drug withdrawal. But being shaken awake by your own little brother as he's gazing at you in disbelief and asking why you're in the wrong ward, room, and bed is even worse. I nearly fell out of the narrow bed in shock, trying to catch myself on something next to me, before realising that the solid lump under the crisp white sheets was Frank, lying in exactly the same position next to me, still fast asleep. I managed to catch myself before I could jar his shattered leg or the pins holding it together, managing to keep my place beside him. I blinked up at my younger sibling blearily, exhaustion not masking my irritation. He and Alicia looked fresher than any two people ought to be allowed to look after thepast few days, I noticed bitterly. In fact, they looked exactly the same as ever, in matching skinny jeans and too-tight band t-shirts. Alicia even had the gall to wear a brightly coloured scarf, an impropriety that I witnessed with an unreasonable amount of irritation. For some reason I felt that they should look different. After what we had experienced, I felt there should be some visible mark of impact, one that could be viewed by the naked eye; but there was nothing.

"Gerard!" Mikey said, immediately stepping back as I kept my place in the bed and fixed him with a glare, hoping to I could intimidate him into keeping his questions brief.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow curiously.

I shrugged awkwardly as best I could from where I was lying, hoping to stave off the inevitable tide of questions. Without another form of distraction available, I started noticing the little things about my environment, like the increased noise level outside the door, and the pale shaft of light that was piercing through the blinds and falling on the opposite wall. I estimated that it was around five or six AM.

Mikey continued talking somewhat, but I had higher priorities at that moment. I turned to check that Frank was okay; he didn't seem to be any worse than before, but he also didn't seem any closer to consciousness either. At some point I must have dropped his hand in my sleep, since it now lay idly atop the sheets; frail and white. Unfortunately, the light of the morning was enough for me to catalogue in detail precisely the damage that had been doneduring our night on the cliffs.

Frank's face - which was sallow and unhealthy-looking at the best of times - had been rendered almost unrecognisable by that night and the terrible fall. Both his eyes were black and purple with a mottled pattern of bruises, as though overripe blackberries had burst across his face and been smeared down his left cheekbone. A bruise - as I've had reason to learn throughout the course of my life - is also called a contusion or ecchymosis. It is a kind of injury in which the capillaries are damaged, causing blood to seep into the surrounding tissue. When Frank hit the rocky ledge, the blunt impact had caused his blood vessels to burst, resulting in the patches of darkness and lightness across his face. There were bandages wrapped around his head disguising the worst injury, but in the very centre of the sterile white padding I could see a tiny pinprick of blood. Somehow, this suggestion of an open wound was even worse for me to than having to face a real one. I wanted to cringe, but forced myself to continue cataloging the damage. The rest of Frank's face was a mess of scratches and the odd stray bruise. His lip was split like he got in a fight with a heavy weight boxer. However, I reminded myself, nature was far more dangerous an opponent than any human ever could be.

Leaning towards him, I gently brushed a dark lock of his hair away from his face. I gazed at Frank for a long moment, trying to convey through a simple brush of my fingers all the things I wanted to say to him. I wished he would wake up, yet at the same time I feared it, lest he blame me for his unwanted continuance of life. Turning to Mikey, I squared my shoulders wearily. There were questions that needed to be asked.

I began with the simplest one: "What happened when I was asleep?"

Mikey and Alicia didn't seem to respond to the simplicity of the question the way I had hoped though, shuffling their feet and looking awkward. From the conversation with my mother I was aware that the pair of them had lied to the police officers about the entire situation, but I was too tired to even be angry. I was merely confused, and wanting to know why.

The silence stretched on, but I didn't break it. Over the past few weeks with Frank I had developed a specific technique of getting him to open up with me. Humans are naturally uncomfortable with silence, and they move quickly to fill it should it show signs of continuing for too long. If one remains silent, chances are the other person will start talking just to feel less awkward. It worked with Frank, and it worked here. After a long pause, Mikey began to speak.

"We went to get help" He told me, subconsciously moving closer to Alicia.

"We called the police. We told them there was an accident on the cliffs, that some friends had fallen and we thought they were seriously hurt. Then we called Mom and Dad." Alicia took Mikey's hand in a gesture of support that made my own palms itch, and my heart ache in a way that I didn't understand.

I nodded, and let Mikey continue. "Well, mom and dad showed up at the carpark to pick us up and they were absolutely raging," Mikey said, wincing at the memory. "Alicia took her car home, while we drove straight to the hospital. When we got here, they were just arriving with you and Frank. They took Frank straight into surgery, didn't even let us see him. You were a mess, you were unconscious and covered in blood. Mom pitched a fit until dad stepped in and convinced them that the family insurance covered you for a private room."

I nodded again. That made sense; it had seemed strange that someone like me with only a concussion should be granted a private room, while much more needy patients weren't allowed one. But I hadn't learnt everything I needed to know yet.

"Alicia," I said, focusing my gaze on the smaller of the pair. "What I want to know is why nobody seems to have any idea that Dr. Simmons is related to you." I narrowed my eyes, staring her down.

To my surprise, Alicia had the grace to look ashamed. "My father is a deserter, Gerard." She said quietly. "He joined the army before I was born, I grew up barely knowing him. When I was eight they told me he had run away. I already have a father at home; this man might be related to me by blood, but I don't know him at all. They arrested him too, and if he gets sentenced then chances are I'll never see him again anyway. What good would telling the truth do?"

I wasn't close enough to Alicia to argue. Her family and personal life weren't something we had ever discussed, and I was worried I would be overstepping the mark if I tried to make any suggestions, or got angry with her. So instead I privately resolved to gain an audience with Dr. Simmons as soon as I possibly could. I just let Alicia know I thought she was doing what she felt was best, and I had no intention of arguing. She looked relieved, and then she and Mikey began to look awkward again as the conversation dried up.

I glanced out of the window again. Light was beginning to filter through, the darkness of the night giving way to dawn. The city was a stark silhouette against the first rays of the sun, and I shivered. It was time for me to leave now, go and return to my room - pretend I had never seen Frank. Time to face the music with mom and dad.

/

Slipping back through the hospital was easy, and I returned without anyone becoming any the wiser of my brief absence.

Later that day, the doctors pronounced me well enough to leave the hospital. The extensive testing and substantial amount of complaining from my mother made getting let out nothing short of a miracle. But to be honest, there was nothing wrong with me except a mild concussion, and since when had concussions warranted a hospital stay, anyway?

Mom and dad still weren't on speaking terms with me, however. They had taken the news about Frank's eating disorder and self-harming issues very, very badly, which reminded me of all the reasons why I hadn't wanted to tell them in the first place. They entered the room first thing in the morning with barely a cursory hello - although Mom looked regretful, even as she followed my father's lead - and they gave me breakfast without speaking to me except for a little aside about how hospital food made you even more ill. They packed up my things, and managed all my paperwork without talking to me. In fact, it wasn't until we reached the corridor leading to Frank's room that they spoke again.

Before we left, I was granted the opportunity to say goodbye to Frank. Although of course I was assured that I would be welcome to visit him in the intervening time. Nobody could tell me what would happen after that. It was what had been preoccupying me the whole morning, but I was afraid to ask in case I heard what I dreaded most - that they would make him leave. Leave us, and leave me. After coming so close to losing him, and experiencing those awful moments when I thought he was gone, I knew I couldn't continue without him again. When had he begun to mean so damn much to me?

Before Frank came along, my life was like a grey, dull slate. A blank canvas, to use a cliched phrase. Nothing changed, nothing was beautiful. I spent my days failing school, smoking, and drawing. I spent my nights cutting my wrists to ribbons, drinking myself into a stupor, and occasionally reading obscure books on art to learn facts that nobody except me would ever care about. These books were my secret. I kept them under my bed next to my comic book collection, hidden away as like a shameful secret. Some of them I had stolen from school, others I found in second hand bookstores. I started reading them when I was fourteen, and I never looked back.

However, after Frank arrived, I never seemed to have the time to continue reading them. But that didn't mean I didn't think about the things I discovered. And suddenly I just found Frank in everything. He was everywhere in my world, every little thing suddenly reminded me of him. It was in one of these books that I first found the Norwegian painter as Edvard Munch. When his work was first displayed to the art world of Berlin, it caused such shock and outrage that the exhibition was forced to close after only one week due to protest from the public - and as a teenager you can imagine the level on which that kind of controversy appealed to me. The archetypal lifestyle of the tortured alcoholic artist has resounded with me in a way I can't entirely explain, especially since I met Frank. The artist spent his entire life obsessed with one woman: Tulla. Thoughpassionately in love with her, Munch was so terrified to make a commitment that Tulla eventually ended their relationship in a fight so volatile she blasted off her lovers middle finger with a pistol. How could anyone not find that fascinating? But even so, I tried hard not to draw too many connections between Munch and myself - because I just knew that connecting the dots would create a conclusion I wasn't ready to face; not yet. Not until Frank woke up, and maybe not even then.

Edvard Munch reminds me of Frank in more ways than one, though. You see, his work is also,incidentally, the only art exhibition I have ever attended at a major gallery. I was sixteen, and I was a liar and a thief, I admit it. I left home early one summer morning, telling my parents a long string of lies that they didn't believe and that I didn't expect them to. I caught a train, paying for the ticket with money I had 'borrowed' from Mikey, telling myself I owed him whilst simultaneously being aware I would never be able to pay him back. I travelled to New York and reached the centre by midday. After two years away from the city the crowds were startling, but I pushed through, and when I reached the huge glass entrance to MoMA I hesitated only for a moment before I entered.

The white walls of the exhibition seemed to go on forever. It was crowded, full of people who seemed to come from every walk of life. There was no similarity between the young girl in a cherry red woollen coat sketching quietly from the wooden benches down the centre of the room, and, say, the elderly, dark-haired man who studied each painting closely, with his head twisted at such an angle as to peer at the way in which the rich oils had been applied. I was mystified and a little afraid, but also in awe. I had not expected to be affected so strongly, but my heart beat almost painfully in my thin chest as I walked through the rooms. I was almost embarrassed, as though I expected someone to call me out as an impostor, throw me from the gallery for daring to think I could appreciate art in the same way as the students years older than me. But I could not bring myself to leave. I hovered in front of the huge canvasses, gazing in wonder at the rough, barely identifiable figures Munch had pulled out of the mass of paint.

Most of all though, in spite of what my conflicting emotions were saying, I felt safe. I felt like I had come home. I didn't want to leave there. Even after I had spent too long looking at every individual picture, I stayed. I sat on one of the benches where the more artistic people could sit and draw, and I waited. I wasn't waiting for anything or anyone, but there was a certain sense of expectation. Nothing happened, and I still don't quite understand why I waited so long. But I knew that when the end of the day arrived I had to leave that gallery, and the feeling of bereavement hurt. I never wanted to leave.

Entering Frank's hospital room to say goodbye, I was suddenly reminded of that day. I had the same sense of wonder, as I looked at him lying still and silent in the bed, and the same gut-wrenching feeling of pain as I contemplated leaving him. Mom and dad had stopped outside to speak to a doctor, and so I was alone as I walked quietly towards the bed. Frank was lying with his face turned away, and he looked just the way I had left him; they obviously hadn't moved him at all. I wondered if he could hear me, and as I sat down in the chair beside his bed, I leaned forward self consciously, glancing back at the door to make sure my parents weren't going to come in.

His greasy, unwashed hair tickled my cheek as I placed my lips beside his ear and softly whispered, "Frank, it's me. Please don't hate me when you wake up." I hesitated, unsure of what else to say. Leaning forward again, I spoke quietly; "I had to tell them the truth. You're going to get better soon." Was it my imagination, or had Franks hand twitched slightly on the sheets?

"You're going to get better." I repeated, and then took the plunge. "Frankie, when you wake up, and when they let you out of here...we need to talk too." Holding my breath, I leaned across the white pillow, and gently pressed a kiss to his cheek. It took all my willpower not to place one on his lips too. But that was too risky. Even for me.

The door opening again startled me, and I pulled myself back into the chair just in time, as my mother entered. Exhausted, she still smiled at me. I hoped that meant she was starting to forgive me for lying to her.

"Have you said goodbye? She asked me.

When I nodded in the affirmative, she stepped forward to join me as we stared at Frank. Mirroring my earlier actions, she brushed back his hair, and then leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

"Goodbye, Frank," she said softly.

/

Mom and Dad said we would leave right away, but somehow it took the entire day to pack my things, talk to the doctors, get hold of Mikey, and various other things. The whole time, I just sat in a corner on one of the hard blue plastic chairs in the waiting room, and stared into space. I felt like a machine.

It felt wrong to return home without him. Conversation in the car was stilted and dwindled swiftly. After we eventually made it back to the house and Mom and Dad finally stopped checking over me every five minutes and shooting me dirty looks, I wandered slowly down to the basement. I expected to feel relieved to be back home in my cave, amongst my things with my art and my comics and music and nobody to tell me when to eat or sleep, and even to be able to go to the toilet unaccompanied. But it just felt empty, like the colour had gone out of the little room, leaving it bare and grey.

I tried to draw, but I was impatient and irritated and the drawing just wasn't playing out the way I had envisioned it. As the pencil lead snapped, leaving a dark mark on the paper, I let out a growl of irritation and hurled the offending stick of wood across the room. Slumping across my desk I placed my head in my hands slowly, grinding my knuckles into my eyes until I saw stars.

When the tap came on my door I wasn't expecting it, and I quickly pulled myself together before letting it open. "Come in," I called. I was surprised to see that Mikey stood in the doorway, his lanky frame poised awkwardly. "Oh, hi Mikes," I said, wondering what he wanted. Our last confrontation in Frank's room played across my mind. I could see from the look on his face that he was thinking of the same incident.

"I guess..." Mikey said, embarrassed. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You know, with you and Frank and everything."

An irrational anger sprang up inside me like a spitting cobra twisting itself along my spine, and I had a sudden desire to strike Mikey. Shocked at myself and suppressing it shakily, I tried to compose myself. "Thank you, Mikey. I'm okay. I think I'm just going to get some sleep," I stated, hoping he would get the message. Mikey looked like he wanted to say more, but eventually just nodded and left again, closing the door behind him. That had to have been the most pointless conversation in the history of siblinghood, I mused.

I didn't know why I was so uptight and angry tonight. I should have been a sodden mess of relief, knowing Frank was probably going to survive. But I felt like a coiled spring, wound up and ready to snap. Eventually I realised I was angry at Frank. Fury should have been my initial reaction when I realised what he had done, but I had been too busy trying to save him, too busy trying to make sure he was still alive for me to BE angry at. Fury was making a late, and unwelcome appearance. Out of nowhere, I was raging at him. How dare he do that.

I was almost relieved to realise I was angry at him. It made me feel better - and worse - to think about Frank without all the new feelings that had been confusing me. Anger was much more manageable than it's alternative.

_Or maybe you're just angry at him because you l-e him_.

I wouldn't let myself think about it. Maybe there WAS a way to stop thinking about it. A way I hadn't used in a long time.

I knew I had to do something to make this absolute chaotic swarm of feelings go away. _It's just one night,_ my subconsciously told me slyly. _Frank would never have to know...he's not even awake. And he didn't look after himself either, why should you? _The voice was getting louder inside me, and more convincing. So just like that, I gave in. I stood up from the desk, and grabbed my leather jacket from the back of the chair. Picking up my wallet as I walked out and up the stairs, I tried to keep my steps slow and even so Mom and Dad wouldn't hear me. I doubted they would stop me from going, but it really wasn't worth the risk.

The front door closed quietly behind me, and as I walked down the driveway I pulled out my mobile phone. It didn't take me long to find the number - the number which I hadn't used in months, since before Frank arrived.

I didn't hesitate. I hit the dial button, and I pressed the phone to my ear, listening to it ring. When the man on the other end of the line picked up, I spoke quickly.

"Bert, I know it's been a while. But what are you doing tonight?"

/

/

/

***cowers and waits for the storm of abuse***

**...**

**...**

**...**

**Ahem. Hello again. I thought this would be an appropriate moment to mention that yesterday was my 18th birthday, and if you wished to send me just a tiny piece of love, you should definitely review this chapter. You know, just to show you appreciate me spending the evening of my 18th straightening out the finer details of this chapter. **

**_"And do you close your eyes with her? And pretend I'm doing you again? Like only I can? I bet you wish you had me back"_**

**Much love always darlings, **

**~Hana Belladonna**


	29. Life On The Murder Scene

**_Hello everyone._**

**_So, as virtually everyone on the planet is now aware, My Chemical Romance have split up. The band which defined us, taught us and influenced us, has gone. For anyone who has read Gerard's goodbye letter, it would be impossible to still be angry. How can you not forgive a man, who simply acknowledges that it is time to call it a day? I admire him, for not commercialising the end, but for just saying quietly "goodbye, and thank you." But in many ways, it feels as though my heart is still broken. Contemplating a future without MCR is much more terrifying than it ought to be._**

**_This fanfiction was of course inspired heavily by MCR. And for the first time, I would like to tell you a little bit about why I began to write it._**

**_Several years ago, my then-girlfriend and I were utterly obsessed with the band. We spent our lives RPing, reading fanfiction, listening to the music and learning to play it on the guitar - and together we saw MCR live twice._**

**_After we split up, I felt like I had lost more than a girlfriend, and more than a friend. Suddenly, I had no-one with whom to share my love of MCR. Which in a way, was worse, strange as it sounds. At the same time, I was going through a difficult period in my own life where I was very lonely, and I had begun self-harming again for the first time in years._**

**_"You only hear the music when your heart begins to break" Gerard told me. It was true. It was the summer after I turned fifteen, the summer after the World Contamination Tour, and I never left the house. I was this isolated girl, locking myself in my bedroom late at night hunched over my tiny desk, painting vampires and broken hearts, smoking whilst Danger Days played on repeat on my battered CD player. Every time I heard "He burns my skin...never matters about the shape I'm in" on SCARECROW I would grind the cigarette out on the back of my hand. The scars have never faded, although they have turned white now - years later._**

**_Eventually, naturally I began to think about love. About the pain and suffering it brought, and I wondered if there was any such thing as a love which could supersede all problems through the tenacity of its sheer purity. Gerard was in my ear, telling me "I'll find you when the sun goes black..." which struck me as an exact example of that unattainably perfect love. The love between soulmates, which cannot be denied by any adversity, the love which even a dystopian world could not tear apart. I wanted to write that love, and write the suffering right alongside it - and I swore that no matter what happened, I would see the story through to the end once I began it._**

**_This story thus far has been long, repetitive and potentially boring in places. It is not the literary giant I wish it was. But all the same, I will not give up. This story will be written until the very end. Because the Gerard and Frank of this story, they need to be written. I cannot leave their lives untold, and their world half-finished. I cannot stop writing, until they have found this perfect love within themselves, and used it as the weapon to overcome all of their pain and grief._**

**_This story will go on until the end. Until the sun goes black, and only love is the only salvation. If you are still there to read it by the end, thank you._**

**_~Hana Belladonna, 06-04-13_**

/

I was alive. And it hurt like hell. Again.

At first that was all I could comprehend; this sudden sense of self. Vague images and sensations then began to dance through my mind like wraiths. They were the little demons, the little thoughts that managed to slip in when I wasn't paying attention. No matter how hard I tried to suppress the memory, flashes from the previous night played themselves out in front of my eyes, a torment I couldn't escape. I didn't want to think. My mind was hurting from thinking, but it was happening all the same.

_Meeting Bert, at the corner of his street. The way his eyes lit up when he saw me again._

_Bert introducing me to his friends, a motley, dirty bunch. They had crowded around me, jeering, until Bert forced his way through a pair of them and managed to persuade them that I was going to be an addition, rather than a hindrance to the evening. My wallet played a fairly large role in convincing them, but I didn't even care by that point. I was already too drunk._

My mouth tasted fuzzy and dirty, the remnants of cheap alcohol and shame still lying heavily on my swollen tongue. My head was drilling a staccato rhythm straight through my eyes, which I kept pressed tightly closed against the dim light that I could sense lay just beyond their thin lids. I wasn't sure where I was, and I admit there was a small part of me still hoping childishly that I was about to find out the whole thing had been a bad dream. But I was fooling myself. I knew what a hangover felt like; I had fallen victim to enough of them over the years.

_We had spent a lot of time wandering the streets drinking, but it wasn't nearly as much fun. So we eventually went back to the flat of Bert's older brother. There had been some kind of ghetto party going on, comprised of a bigger bunch of teenagers (a few of whom were considerably older, andought to have known better) all sitting around in a dank little room, drinking and passing around a joint. By the time we arrived at around midnight, the place was in shambles. Apart from the tight core of serious pot smokers, there were overly made-up girls in short skirts slumping off the sofas while their boyfriends downed more beer, barely sparing a glance for their dates._

_It had been a long time since I'd had drugs of any form. Somehow I just stopped taking them when I met Fr- but by the time they offered me the joint, I was too wasted to care._

_After that, everything became a blur._

My neck was stiff, too. That was to be expected, though - I was ridiculously sensitive to sleeping anywhere except my own bed, and my muscles tended to respond accordingly. I moved my head experimentally, and a wave of nausea hit me like a freight train. I wrenched my eyes open and flung myself towards the side of the bed I was occupying, retching over the edge as stale alcohol emptied itself from my stomach onto the carpet. Tears sprang into my eyes at the sting, my stomach muscles already beginning to cramp in protest.

As the vomiting ceased, I raised my head cautiously and looked around. My head was still spinning, and every part of me hurt, but I didn't seem to be in any danger of throwing up again. I examined my surroundings through narrowed eyes. I was in a small bedroom, which was distinctly not mine. It was a tip - unwashed clothes all over the floor in piles, half-eaten meals on plates littering the sides of the room. There was no furniture except for the double bed I lay on, which took up almost all the space. As I looked around, I had my second shock of the morning; I was not alone in the bed.

Stretched across the other side of the mattress, a girl lay turned away from me. She lay on her stomach, one leg pulled towards herself and the other stretched straight, uncovered by sheet or blanket. She wasn't naked - but that didn't mean anything. She was wearing tiny, insubstantial amount of black lace stretched across her breasts and ass. The rest of her bare skin looked dirty, but maybe that was just the uneven way the orangey fake tan was streaked down her arms and legs. I was repulsed, and somehow frightened by the sight of her. She was snoring lightly, tendrils of her plasticky blonde hair floating over her nose, drifting as she breathed in and out.

Her presence horrified me, and I desperately wracked my brain trying to think about what might or might not have happened last night. Had we fucked? Surely I couldn't have been that drunk. But my mind was drawing an impressive blank on the circumstances in which this not-so-beautiful-sleeping-beauty had ended up in bed with me. I looked down at myself, relieved to see I was still wearing my jeans. But I was shirtless, which was in and of itself a concern - I liked that shirt. I was also somewhat confused about appropriate morning after etiquette. Would the girl expect me to stay and explain? More likely I would be the one asking her to explain. Could I bear to remain until she woke up?

I ground my knuckles into my eyes wearily, wishing the pounding behind them would let up just for a minute so I could think straight. My mind up was made up for me about what the hell I was going to do next when the girl let out a sudden groan and seemed to be waking up. I waited, frozen and watching. I had never seen a girl waking up before, let alone one so scantily clad (whatever happened last night notwithstanding) and I was watching with a kind of fascinated revulsion, like when you stand and stare at the zoo;,struck by a particularly unpleasant animal, wanting to walk away, but still curious.

I stared as her eyelids twitched and she stretched, her long body flexing as she rolled towards me. I could see the exact moment she realised she wasn't alone. She opened her bloodshot eyes, wiping dregs of mascara from the corners, and then nearly jumped right out of the bed when she saw me.

"Christ!" She hissed, grabbing a sheet, and pulling it towards her to cover herself.

It wasn't looking good. Chances were, I had slept with this girl. I had probably gone and lost my virginity to her, some tarted up girl at a party. Worst of all, she was female. But manners were too ingrained in me from childhood to ignore a lady after I had slept with her, no matter how unladylike she seemed.

"Good morning," I said politely, catching her off guard. I quirked an eyebrow at her, trying to come across as friendly rather than sleazy. "I hate to say this, but I unfortunately can't remember anything about what happened last night. Um, I don't suppose you do, do you?"

The girl stopped trying to cover herself, and eyed me with a look much more speculative than resigned. Her eyes ran up and down my unclothed torso. Then a slow smile spread over her face, and she deliberately let the sheet fall away. "Well then, good morning, handsome," she said seductively, starting to edge towards me.

And that right there was how I knew I had to change.

I was fucking done with living this way. It was time to go home, face the music, and get my shit together. If Frank woke up, I needed to be there for him - I needed to be the strong one, I needed to set an example. Suddenly, for the first time in years I realised that I was no longer afraid to keep on living. It had been hard, yes, and it would continue to be hard, but suffering was not unique in any way, shape, or form. The only thing that was unique about pain was the ways in which we dealt with it, and I was not going to go running to the nearest bottle at the slightest sign of trouble anymore. I was done with that.

They say you need to hit rock bottom in order to begin to climb again.

I was already heading for the door by the time the girl spoke again.

"Wait!" She cried, as I paused with one hand on the door handle.

"Where are you going?" She asked, her eyes beseeching. I sighed, and picked up my  
>t-shirt from the floor, and tossed it to her. She caught it, looking confused.<p>

"Put that on, and go home." I told her. "Forget me, forget what happened.  
>I have to go now. I have some shit to fix."<p>

And I walked out of that door, without looking back.

/

Mom and dad were angrier than I had ever seen them before. Mom was almost in tears as she paced up and down in front of me, berating me for being so thoughtless. Dad sat more quietly in his chair, letting his presence be its own form of chastisement. Every inch of my body was begging me to slouch from the room teenage-style, muttering a few expletives over my shoulder as I did so, to continue playing to type and forgo the greater challenge of facing reality.

But another part of me was warring with the angst, reminding me that yes, it was my fault. I had been thoughtless, leaving like that - staying out all night, getting drunk at a party, sleeping with a strange girl, not telling my parents where I was or even that I had left the house. So I stood with my head bowed, and I took it. I wordlessly let Mom continue her tirade. I wondered idly- and not without a certain amount of horror - if this meant I was finally growing up. But then I realised that if I had to think it, chances were I wasn't, which was a great relief at that particular time. I didn't want to grow up–it wasn't that I was afraid of the responsibility anymore, but that I simply wanted to experience all the things I had missed along the way before it was too late.

Outside, it was dawn again. Our net curtains were still drawn so the neighbours didn't get an early morning special of watching the Way family disagreement. But the pale autumn sun filtered through the gaps, lighting the fluffy carpet in strips. How ironic, I mused to myself. How reminiscent of a new beginning. I looked at the dust motes shimmering in the rays of light, and wondered how I could possibly replicate that precise shade of white, with a rainbow glimmering around its edges. I was beginning to understand that not everything could be painted. Some things had to simply be, just for the sake of being. Frank was my muse, my inspiration. Just like the dust in the light, I saw the beauty in him whilst the rest of the world only saw something ordinary. But like the light, I couldn't hold him, I couldn't recreate him and keep him for my own.

That was possession, not love.

Had wanted to own Frank? I had wanted to fix him, to make it all better. But I kept him all to myself, shutting out the rest of the world when people in it might have been able to help him, too. Had I been so lonely, so utterly on my own that I was willing to risk his recovery to retain his companionship? Ray had told me I needed to tell my parents immediately and that Frank was in danger, but I hadn't listened to him. Well, I was listening now, even if it was too late. I couldn't save Frank - but I could still be there for him. Before, I had been seeing these two things as inclusive, unable to exist without one another. But now that someone else had the responsibility of making Frank better, I could see more clearly.

All I could do was keep him safe until he could shine on his own. I had drawn Frank so many times over the past month that I knew his features better than my own. I knew every hollow and crevice in his face, every little flaw and every tiny perfection. I knew the way his entire face changed and became calm when he played the guitar. I knew about the little crease between his eyebrows that formed when I was teaching him to read and write. I knew that being drawn made him slightly uncomfortable, but that he put up with it for my sake. I knew what every expression on his face meant, and yet I had no idea what was in his heart or head. And, I was starting to see, that was the way it should be.

The shouting washed over me, and I barely interjected, except to apologise again. I was thinking of everything. One thing I found it difficult to reconcile was why. Why had I let things go so far? If Frank made it through this alive, I swore I would make things change.

My feelings for Frank that I had refused to admit to myself for so long had coloured our interactions. Perhaps they were the reason I had fought so hard to keep him mine alone. Bob had seen the truth the moment he watched Frank and I together. Now I just had to admit the truth to myself; face up to the fact that I saw Frank as more than a friend. That didn't mean I had to tell him I loved him. But I could acknowledge it, keep it safe inside my own mind where it wouldn't harm anyone.

Christ. I _loved_ him.

I loved Frank. Not in the way you're supposed to love your foster-brother. And I could never, ever tell him.

/

I returned my attention to the conversation, only to find my contribution wasn't actually required. Mom and Dad were so shocked at my lack of fight that they became subdued quickly, once I hadgiven the necessary explanation. And then before they could ask me anything specific, I carefully bypassed their questions about the night before (not an easy task by any means) which meant I could move in with the only thing prominent in my mind, the only question I really need answered:

"When can Frank come home?"

I had avoided asking the question so explicitly before, because I was afraid to know the answer. But I felt like I had developed a new skin since my realization that I needed to be stronger if I wanted to help Frank. I was determined to see this through to the other side, and if that meant being adult and mature and facing up to difficult things (even though the very word 'adult' made my skin crawl with all its connotations, and the word 'mature' reminded me of middle-aged domesticity) - I would do it. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and turned towards my parents.

"When can Frank come home?" I asked again. I tried, tried so hard to keep my voice calm and measured, but a flicker of pain came into it all the same. My mother and father were both sitting on the sofa in front of me by this point. My mother was wearing a thin flannel nightgown under her robe, and her hair fell down in strands around her face, making her look exhausted. I felt a twinge of remorse, as I realised she had probably been up all night wondering where I was. My father looked as infallible as ever - dressed in his usual work outfit, ready to leave as soon as his wayward son had been dealt with. But I had hurt them both, I could tell.

Except all I could think about was Frank, and how much he must have been hurting too.

My mother looked even more tired, as she answered me. "We have to wait for Frank to wake up" she stated quietly. "Then we can talk to him in more detail about the extent of his self-injury and...eating disorder." Her voice stumbled over the phrase, as though she had never had to use it before. She hadn't either - I was a self-harmer sure, but I had never had any problems with eating. Mikey was rail thin thanks to his genes, not any particular dislike for food. I had the feeling Mikey wouldn't have cared if he was a blob, as long as he had his bass and Alicia.

"Will he be able to come home?" I asked quietly, figuring I might as well get all the really painful questions out of the way while we were having the conversation. There was a lump growing in my throat, and I was having trouble keeping my voice even.

Mom looked at my father slowly, as though confirming something, before she turned back to me. "We have arranged a place for Frank" she told me softly, regret colouring her tone as she carefully watched my face change. "A special facility, where he will stay once he wakes up. They have the best doctors and the best treatment there - he can get better."

I nodded. "And then can he come home?" I pleaded, looking at my father earnestly, perfectly aware that this was his decision, not my mothers.

"Frank is seriously unwell," my father said simply, in his gravelly voice. "But if Frank survives his injuries, and recovers sufficiently, we will be happy to accept him into our home until he finishes his schooling."

My mother leaned over and took his hand before turning back to me. "We all care for Frank," she said gently. "In a few weeks, he somehow managed to work his way into our hearts. Trust me Gerard, we aren't getting rid of him."

At those words, the damn broke. I felt my eyes well up, and tears spill over without warning as I began to sob. Before I could run blindly from the room, I felt my mother's arms come around me again as she held me tightly to her, letting me cry out everything into her warm, soft shoulder, like it was the end of the world. I couldn't believe that I had shut my family out for so many years. Three damn years of hiding in the basement with my art, only talking to Mikey. Three years of blaming my parents for everything that was wrong with me, acting like I didn't care that I never spoke to them or let them into my world. I had alienated myself from the only people who could have helped me, when I needed it the most. When I was falling in love.

I had begun to see my parents as separate beings to myself when I was only fourteen. I began to watch them be subject to all the mistakes humans make, without the maturity to give them the benefit of the doubt, and remeber that everyone has faults. I was too young to reject my family, but I had done it anyway.

"I'm sorry!" I choked out, almost unintelligibly. "I'm sorry I didn't speak to you, or tell you anything, I'm so sorry I cut you out!" My mother shushed me, holding me closer.

"It's okay," she murmured, stroking my hair. "We're still here," she told me, letting me fall apart in her embrace as I cried like the world was splitting apart, like it was the end of everything. I wasn't sure if it was grief or happiness I was crying for, myself, or Frank. Nobody had died, and nobody was going to die. But in a way, I was grieving. I was crying for the years I had wasted, the life that I could have had, that I would never get back.

I had been dead for so long, and somehow it had taken someone even more damaged than me, to bring it to the surface enough for me to put the pieces back together. Frank could come home. I would have the chance to tell him I was sorry, Frank was going to get better. The relief was utterly overwhelming as I cried out the stress and pain and grief that had been colouring the last month with Frank. It really is going to be okay, was all I could think.

When I managed to get myself together, I turned to my parents again. I was cuddled close to my mother, but for once our proximity didn't make me want to cringe away. I took comfort in thesensation of her arms wrapped around me, and the contentment I felt coming from her that I hadn't seen in a very long time. I had forgotten the feeling of safety that one can find in a mother's arms, and I rediscovered it through my tears. My father looked as though he almost wanted to join in, but couldn't quite bring himself to descend to our level. He settled for patting me awkwardly on the back, and attempting to smile. Coming from my father, this was an achievement—I was impressed.

"What day is it?" I asked, once I regained control of myself. In the mess of everything that had been happening, I had no idea what time frame I was working on. It disoriented me to realise I had absolutely no idea what the date was.

"It's a Monday," my mom stated, following up with the obvious answer to my next question. "But we don't think you should go in to school today. The police want to speak to you, and we're going to visit the hospital later. You can go back to school tomorrow."

I agreed with my mother's assessment, although for slightly different reasons. I had absolutely no desire to become the target of the inevitable tide of questions that I knew would descend. When you live in a small town like ours, news travels quickly. Even if Mikey and Alicia had said nothing, hospital workers and police officers had families, too. And these families contained teenagers that attended our high school. Yes, staying home was the best idea for today.

/

The day in itself passed far more slowly than I could have predicted. After the early morning conversation, I went straight back to bed to nurse my hangover. I slept in Frank's bunk, the scent of him still lingering on the pillows and making me miss him even more.

Sometimes in the afternoon, my mother woke me to let me know the police would be here soon, and made me shower and get dressed. She was quiet as she spoke to me, and I spoke softly in return, both of us treading carefully on this new ground we had discovered between us. This trust was fragile, though, so we were afraid to test its limits. We watched each other warily, yet with a peace that had been missing from our interactions for a long time.

I dressed more neatly than unusual, unhappy to have to forgo my baggy band t-shirts, but aware that the upcoming conversation with the police might be my only chance to help both Frank and Dr. Simmons. I spent a lot of time in front of the mirror, nervously flattening my hair and trying to convince myself to leave the room.

By the time I eventually made it upstairs, Mom was serving cups of tea to male and femaleuniformed officers in the living room. She was chattering in what I recognised as a bid to fill the silence, but came to a pause when I entered the room. Both officers stood up to greet me, shaking hands. We all sat down, and looked at one another awkwardly, before the female officer broke in.

She was slightly plump under her bulletproof vest, with a round face and blonde hair. She didn't look as if she could hurt a fly, let alone hunt down dangerous criminals on a daily basis. But her straight posture and determined expression told a different story. She spoke directly to me, and I appreciated that she let us get straight to the point, without beating around the bush.

"Gerard, we're here today because we need to get an exact statement from you about what happened with Frank Iero on Friday night," she told me, keeping a neutral look on her face. "We will record what you say, and we ask that you make your account as detailed as you can."

My face must have betrayed my emotions, because when she next spoke, her voice was more reassuring.

"You're not in any trouble, we just need to know everything that happened, especially any parts including a man I believe you know as Mr. Simmons. We need you to tell us when and how you met him, and everything he told you."

The woman clearly had the wrong idea about the Doc, so I couldn't help opening my mouth to correct her.

She cut me off, smiling to cover her abruptness. "Just tell it to the recorder, Gerard," she repeated, before pulling out a black device and placing it on the centre of the table. Clicking it on, she leaned towards me. "Feel free to begin now," she told me, not reassuring me at all.

When I froze, she prompted me. "When did you realise where Frank was?"

"I noticed Frank was missing around 5pm," I began slowly. "So Mikey and I ran to look for him, because we were worried he might have hurt hims-we were worried he might be hurt."

The male officer nodded at me, making eye contact for the first time. Gaining confidence, I continued talking. I walked them through the trip to the flat, how Mikey had recognised Dr. Simmons. I told them everything I could remember, sparing no details. I was particularly careful to illustrate how Dr. Simmons had only been trying to help us find Frank.

I was wary about including Alicia in the description, but at the end of the day I didn't have a choice - it was her car that had gotten us to the Palisade cliffs. I talked about running to find Frank, and how I had thought he was dead. I still found that part hard to talk about, my voice trembling. Finally, I explained to them how Dr. Simmons had helped me reach Frank, and how I had sat with his unconscious body on the ledge until help arrived.

It took me well over an hour to finish answering every question the two officers posed, explaining in detail every tiny aspect of that night.

When they were finally satisfied, they clicked off the tape recorder and thanked me for my time and cooperation. I was exhausted, my natural body clock screwed up and my throat sore from so much talking. But as the two officers prepared to go, I remembered something else I needed to ask.

"What happens to Dr. Simmons?" I said quickly. "I heard he was in trouble, but that can't be right. All he did was try to help."

The two officers exchanged glances, and seemed to come to a conclusion.

"The confidentially clause means we can't tell you much," the male officer warned as he stood towering above me while I remained seated. "But we have reason to believe Mr. Simmons is mentally unstable. He appears to have an obsession with your friend Mr. Iero-he has already confessed that he visited him every night for years. We are currently looking into what charges will be brought against him. We'll be able to clarify them better when Mr Iero wakes up and can explain more to us. There is also the matter of his desertion of his platoon several years ago-a crime severely punishable under U.S. law.

"However, if we can confirm Mr. Simmons was suffering from the same delusions at the time, those particular charges should be dropped."

I was stunned into silence. Dr. Simmons visiting Frank was considered something bad? I wondered if the officers knew Frank had never so much as let the man through the front door, let alone been a victim. Dr. Simmons was the only reason Frank was even coping in school at the moment!

I tried to explain this to the officers, but they simply thanked me again for my time and informed me that all evidence would be closely examined in due course, and that I may be called as a witness if the matter went to trial.

Then the police officers left without telling me anything further, and I was alone with my thoughts again.

I sat quietly for a moment, contemplating everything that had just ooccurred. I heard the phone ring and Mom answer it, but the significance didn't register with me. I had far too much on my mind already, and I didn't pick up on any of the words I heard being quietly exchaned. In fact, I was about to leave when I suddenly heard a muffled crash before my mother ran back into the room.

I looked up in surprise as she came to a halt in front of me, two spots of red appearing high on her cheekbones.

"We need to go now," she told me, her voice pitching.

"Frank just woke up."


	30. Sleep

**Hello all, apologies for the long delay in this chapter. I've written and re-written and I stil can't decide whether or not this way the best way to tackle things. **

**There is quite a big time lapse spanning two months, which is a technique I have never used before - so please remember I'm not a real author, and if this doesn't make sense just let me know, and don't flame. **

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**Frank's point of view.**

_Two months later._

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What words do you use to describe a feeling which has no definition? Anger, perhaps. Anger is a strong word. But it also implies a certain level of resistance and resilience - a kind of internal fire which cannot be put out. I have no fight left in me. Sad? Sorrow, a depth of grief which encompasses the recipient wholly and completely. No. Hope? Too much positivity in the word, too much implication.

I have had a lot of time to consider what exactly I am feeling. After all, I have been spending most of my time in silent contemplation for the past two months. At Greenwood Facility for the Mentally Ill, we are encouraged to interact with one another. We have regular group sessions, as well as frequent opportunities to meet other patients. But I am one of the solitary ones - I never mix with the others, and during communal free time I sit alone, quietly contemplating. Lindsey, my therapist, tells me that I am grieving for life. No matter how much I try to explain to her that I cannot grieve for something I have never known, she simply smiles calmly at me and repeats her words.

I like Lindsey. She isn't like the other doctors and nurses I have to see. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that she's trying to fix my head, not my body - which makes me feel safer, and less safe all at once. Maybe there's just something about her warm eyes and easy smile that makes you want to trust her. I meet with Lindsey every few days, and update her on my progress. She never bullshits me or treats me like I'm incapable of normal conversation like some of the doctors do. She sits calmly on the other side of the desk and winds her long black hair around her pen as she listens to what I have to say. She talks to me like an adult, and in return, I trust her with my secrets.

When I first arrived at the Greenwood, things weren't like this. Waking up from the induced unconsciousness the hospital doctors kept me in was one of the most horrific things I have ever experienced, the kind of personal damnation Dante spoke of, which one only finds in the ninth circle of hell. Gerard told me later that several days had passed between when he found me, and when I woke up. But of course when you are unconscious you are unaware of time passing. For me, one moment I was falling towards oblivion and peace. Then suddenly there was a blinding flash of pain, and I was waking up surrounded by noise, bright lights, faces and people crying.

I cannot describe the level of my fury when I realised I had not even been allowed to die. From the hospital bed I tried to claw my eyes out, raking my nails deeply down my face and when that did not work I tried to claw out the eyes of the closest person to me. Who unfortunately happened to be Gerard's father, whereupon he promptly used his superior upper-body strength, pinned me to the bed and waited for the doctors to sedate me. The last thing I remembered seeing before I felt the sharp needle prick and slipped into darkness again, was Gerard's appalled face, white and stricken from his place in the corner of the room.

The second time I woke up was better. I was already strapped to the bed, and my hands were coved in some kind of mittens so I couldn't claw myself again. But I didn't want to anymore. The vision of Gerard's face was imprinted on my mind, painfully clear. I didn't want to ever make Gerard look like that again. His beautiful face shouldn't have to wear that expression, not because of me. Gerard wasn't there the second time I woke up, and I wondered if I had scared him too much the first time. It was just the doctors and me. The doctors would tell me nothing, they simply adjusted the tubes running in and out of me. I didn't want the tubes, but I couldn't pull them out with my arms tied down.

It was one of the nurses who told me what had happened, the same day I woke. She was younger than the others, and kind. My voice was almost gone, but as she straightened my bedcovers I managed to convey my desire to understand more about my situation. I was calm, which was perhaps why she agreed. She looked around nervously before perching herself on the edge of my bed, and quietly telling me why I was alive. And then I heard the whole story. Gerard had saved my life.

It made tears come to my eyes, the story she told me. When I expressed my disbelief about some of the details, the nurse produced a local newspaper. Belleville Teenager saves boy! Proclaimed the headlines, and there was a picture of Gerard on the front - looking surly and uncooperative. The picture made me smile, but the article didn't. I wasn't proficient enough at reading yet to understand it entirely, but the nurse read it out loud to me. It essentially said the same thing - I had fallen, Gerard has climbed down a cliff face to save me, and we had both been airlifted out.

The article enraged me, for reasons I couldn't understand. The next time the pleasant nurse came to visit, I was inexcusably rude to her, and she didn't return. Then I just felt even worse. I sulked. Some weeks later, Lindsey helped me understand that I was angry because I felt guilty. Gerard could have died because of me. I only ever wanted to kill myself, not anyone else. Especially not Gerard.

The first time I properly saw Gerard after the incident was every bit as awkward as anyone could have anticipated. Perhaps I should have thrown myself into his arms with a cry of gratitude, thanking him for saving my life. I admit the idea occurred to me, but considering I was still bed bound, it would have been difficult. And I would have had the added difficulty of explaining it to Gerard's mother.

It was the day after I woke up properly. The doctors had reluctantly pronounced me strong enough for visitors, and the Way family apparently needed no further encouragement. I admit, a small part of me was surprised they hadn't simply taken the opportunity to remove themselves from any legalities tying them to me the moment I jumped. After all, I was eighteen now. They were no longer obligated to take care of me. However within hours of my being cleared for company, Donna and Gerard arrived. Donna was first through the door, a tiny blonde whirlwind as she practically hurled herself onto the bed, wrapping me in her arms.

In the brief weeks I had lived with the Way family, Donna had always physically kept a safe distance. Although she encouraged me to open up to her, tried to make time for me and did the best she could to make me feel at home, she never touched me. I was never certain whether she was trying to make sure I didn't feel threatened, or just didn't want to. But all of that disappeared now as she threw her arms around me. Apparently once you try to kill yourself, all bets are off.

Donna held me tightly and I was engulfed in the scent of her perfume and face powder. Whilst part of me instantly wanted to recoil - Gerard was the only person I had allowed to toucth me in years - a greater part of me wanted to cry at this maternal figure holding me in her arms. Although Donna hugs me regularly when she visits me now, I won't forget that first embrace. Lindsey likes to talk about that particular situation a lot at our sessions. She tries to make me talk about my biological mother too, explaining to me how it was natural for me to feel confused about Donna. Part of me craved a motherly figure, part of me rejected it out of a conviction that she would leave too, just like everyone else always had.

Donna was so over-exuberant I didn't notice Gerard at first. The youg man sidled through the door awkwardly, dressed in his usual uniform of black, incongruously holding a bunch of flowers by his side. He looked like he was trying to distance himself from the flowers as much as possible, and I giggled in spite of myself. Gerard's gaze shot up, and his eyes locked with mine. The smile on my lips faded away as our eyes met, and something passed between us. I couldn't say what it was - understanding? Sorrow? Love? - but it made Gerard drop his eyes instantly, before laying the flowers on the table by the bed.

Donna and Gerard stayed for hours that day, until the sun sank beneath the horizon and they had to be virtually ordered to leave. A helpful nurse brought an extra chair for Gerard after the first hour or so, and they both clustered around the bed. Conversation was initially stilted, as we all tried to address what had happened, without really knowing how. Before I realised what I was doing, I apologised in a tumbled confused mess of words, and then burst into tears. Gerard instantly reached over and gripped my hand, and with that simple touch all the walls fell away. I was just so sick of lying, sick of being sick. The miracle of his palm pressed against mine sent a shock through me, and I wiped my eyes and sat up straighter. Donna began to ask me why I had done it, and I told her the truth.

Before I had left, Ray had helped me write Gerard a letter when they were staying with us. In it, I had detailed everything that had happened in my life which led to this point. The letter had brought Ray to the edge of tears, and his hands had been shaking with fury by the time he finished writing. As I was sealing it, Ray had offered to help me hunt down my Aunt and Uncle if the police never found them. I appreciated the offer, but didn't anticipate taking him up on it. As it turned out though, Gerard had only made it to the beginning of the first page when he realised my plans. Then in the chaos of everything that followed, he had actually never finished the letter. So most of what I said was a revelation to him too. I told them everything, from the moment my mother died up until the night I was taken to live with the Way family. When I began to mention Dr. Simmons, Gerard's mother began to frown, and asked me if she could note down some of the things I was saying. I agreed, without being really aware of why. Later, I heard that Dr. Simmons was being investigated for his actions.

Donna paid particular attention when I talked about food, although I didn't even realise why she wanted to know about that either at the time. It wasn't until the doors to Greenwood closed behind me that they began to toss around the words 'eating disorder.' It took me until the end of the first month just to accept I actually had a problem. It was more painful than I can possibly describe, to begin to eat again. My stomach revolted against me, twisting and churning, making me vomit even when I hadn't been trying to make myself. My mind was even worse, protesting viciously about every mouthful, and my own head starting talking back to me - telling me the doctors were only making me uglier and fatter. Nobody would let me look in the mirror, but I was convinced I was growing into the most disgusting enormous person on the face of the planet.

But like all things, within a few months it got better. These days, Lindsey accompanies me once a week to a session with a nutritionist where they plan my meals for the week. Gerard told me privately that he had felt obliged to tell Donna and the doctors about my issues with food, which was how they knew, and he apologised profusely. I wanted to be angry with his betrayal of my secrets, but somehow couldn't bring myself to feel anything towards him that even vaguely resembled anger.

By the end of the first hour at the hospital, we had all covered the awful topics. This was when Donna explained about Greenwood, explaining to me that it was a facility which was equipped to cope with people like me, and problems like mine. I thought at first that this was their way of politely getting rid of me, but Donna was horrified when I asked the question, and told me I would be returning to live with them as soon as I was well enough. "If you want to, that is" she said quickly. I couldn't think of anything I wanted more.

Donna gave Gerard and I a few minutes alone together towards the end of visiting hours, closing the door behind her and promising Gerard she would wait in the reception. Whereupon all kinds of conversation immediately became inexplicably difficult. Gerard and I kept catching each others eye, and then looking away awkwardly, but his thumb moved in circles over the back of my hand reassuringly. Eventually Gerard gestured shyly towards the flowers. "I thought you might like these" he said softly. "I was going to paint them, but I thought you might want something to make this place a bit nicer." The hospital room was stark, white and bare. Gerard had a point. I thanked him even more shyly. Gerard hadn't let go of my hand throughout the whole conversation, as though he was worried I was going to run away, and I squeezed tightly it then.

We had so many things to say, but that first time we were left alone together, we said nothing. There was something between us we couldn't voice. When Gerard risked his life to save mine, it had brought something to the surface, but neither of us knew how to address it. All I could explain, was that every time I touched Gerard or caught his eye, it was like a bolt of lightening shot through warned me that the strong feelings were natural, but that they might be one sided and I shouldn't get my hopes up. She was wrong though. I saw it in Gerard's eyes every time he looked at me. There was not a single doubt that he felt the same way about me. The only thing that remained to know, was when these feelings were going to come to the surface, and when we were going to speak of them.

The doctors predicted I would need to stay at Greenwood for three months. I have been here for two now, and this tension between Gerard and I is stronger every time he visits. The whole Way family comes every Saturday, and spends the day with me. Even Mikey is polite, which is surprising - almost as surprising as the fact that every week he gives up a day that he could have spent with Alicia, to merely visit me. I suspect coercion is involved. The day is usually spent in the room reserved for visitors. It is a big room, comfortable and well equipped with chairs and tables, perfect for little family gatherings like ours. we all sit around in a circle, and just chat. I don't usually say much, but I don't need to. Things that I want to know about the outside world like what is happening to Dr. Simmons, they refuse to tell me. All they will say, is that things will become clearer once I am better. They tell me to focus on my recovery, and not concern myself with difficult issues just yet - after all, I have enough demons of my own to tackle.

It frustrates me, but Lindsey tells me they are right. That my personal battles are hard enough. In some ways, I understand what she means. Every therapy session is gruelling, and usually leaves me a wreck from facing up to the memories. But at the same time, I find myself working towards a sense of closure I would not have previously thought possible to achieve. It's indescribably difficult to confront some of the issues that apparently need to be tackled. Things like talking about my mother and my grandparents, which cuts straight through me every time I mention them. I miss Mama more than ever now that I have begun to think about her regularly. She would have been thirty two now, had she survived the restaurant bombing. In my head I sometimes create an image of the woman she might have been. Someone soft and gentle, with arms that encompassed the whole world, and a voice which soothed all hurts. I'm never sure how much of this is memory or imagination, but sometimes I just lie in bed late at night, stare at the blank wall and cry, my arms wrapped tightly around myself to try and hold in the ache that radiates through me. I try not to think about how different things might have been if she had survived.

Sometimes I try to explain this to Gerard, in the brief moments we have alone together. We try to find time for each other when possible, and Donna seems to accept this. Gerard always brings me little drawings or flowers, or the cigarettes they won't let me have in here. And when I need to tell him something he doesn't talk much, but he listens intently, and holds my hand - and I know he understands the things that even Lindsey doesn't. Holding hands has become second nature for us now. The moment we are left alone, it just happens naturally. One or the other of us will reach out easily and interlock our fingers. It's both a source of comfort, and of tension. Neither of us mention it, or the connotations it involves. But the stolen moments of intimacy are the highlights of my days, and I always enter therapy sessions on a high after seeing Gerard.

It turns out there are a lot of things you don't learn about people when your sole aim in being together involves determinedly not trusting them. Although Gerard and I had lived in the same room for weeks before my suicide attempt, there was the barrier between us that I had kept up, to protect myself. I couldn't bear to have anybody try to change my eating habits, and anybody who got too close was an immediate threat. So even while Gerard comforted me, taught me to write, drew me and listened to me play guitar, I never let him in too deep. Of course I told him things, and I cried to him. But I considered those moments of weakness, and privately regretted them. Then the guilt made me push Gerard away even further, before misery made me cling to him once again. It had been a vicious, chaotic cycle.

Now Gerard and I had the time to really talk to each other. Gerard told me about his childhood, and I told him about my family. We let each other in, and began to fill in the gaps in our knowledge of each other. It was almost like a bizarre form of courting. Sometimes we would be laughing over an amusing story, and it would be like the stark white walls, and Greenwood-issued chairs just melted away. We could have been in a cafe in New York, two lovers joking over an early morning cup of coffee, getting ready for the day ahead. But instead, we were in a mental hospital and I was an in-patient.

Naturally, we eventually began to talk about the future too, and our hopes and dreams. I was still getting used to the idea that I had a future. The concept of a career, a life-plan, maybe even a family one day, was all very ridiculous to me at first. Then I began to realise that it was actually going to happen. At Greenwood, Gerard's family were making their personal form of contribution to my future. They had paid for me to have three private tutors - an expense which stunned me when I was informed. These tutors shared their time between me, working with me six hours a day, five days a week, covering the subjects I needed in order to apply for college. Music, art, literature, math, sciences, history. Gerard's early grounding in how to read and write was more invaluable than he could have ever realised - he saved me weeks of learning.

I still wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my future. Some days I wanted to just go back to bed and hide under the covers when it occurred to me that I had another fifty odd years left on the planet. On the worst days, I wished I could go back in time, and jump off the cliff properly, so I never had to face reality. But those days were gradually becoming less frequent. I thought about doing something with music, but the idea scared me. I just couldn't accept that I might possibly be good enough to actually study the subject. I was too terrified to think that I might be rejected if I applied - and if I was rejected, I knew I would never pick up an instrument again. Once more, Gerard was the only one who understood. This was a private desire I couldn't bring myself to share with anyone. But he already knew. Gerard offered to bring a guitar for me to play, to while away the evenings otherwise spent in extra studying, covering the work my tutors left for me to complete overnight. But I refused the offer, without knowing why. Maybe it was because playing guitar in Gerard's bedroom was different from playing it in the communal main room of the Greenwood centre, where all the other patients could stop and listen.

It was okay though, I had a whole month to go before I had to decide what to do with my life. Really, I just spent most of my time trying not to think. How else could I stop myself from obsessing over every glance Gerard and I shared, panicking about being alive, worrying about the flesh that was slowly beginning to grow across my bones, and anticipate what demons Lindsey would have me tackling next. Really, not thinking was the best option by far. But there was one thing I could just about bring myself to accept, a little mantra Gerard taught me. For as long as I live, I will never forget his beseeching hazel eyes boring into mine, as he made me repeat this. Let me say it out loud, just for you.

My name is Frank Ierø, I am eighteen years old and I am Very Much Alive.

/

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**Thank you for reading.**

**~Hana Belladonna **


	31. Burn Bright

Okay lovelies, here is the next update. Apologies for the slight mix up with the last chapter, and even bigger apologies for the delay in getting this chapter up. Real life has really been kicking my ass.

This chapter is dedicated to a beautiful friend of mine, who is having a hard time since her parents discovered she had a girlfriend, and subsequently forced the relationship to end - out of concern for the repercussions a gay daughter could have for their family.

_Zia, you were fucking perfect. Never be afraid to keep on living._

/

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/

GPOV

The final morning of Dr Simmons' trial was dark. Dark and cold, one of those mornings where you just want to close the curtains, crawl back into bed with a hot drink and pretend it's not daylight outside. But I had been lying awake for hours contemplating the results of today, and there was no point trying to sleep now.

It seemed strange to me, to feel so involved in the life of this stranger I had only met once before. Yet this was the man who had shown me the photograph which had pinpointed Franks location. Without the Doc, Frank would be six feet under - and so would I. We owed our lives to this mysterious man, and today they were going to decide his fate.

I stirred beneath the blankets, and stretched wearily, checking the time; it was sixx:am. It was also mid January, two and a half months after the police had arrested Dr Simmons for doing nothing but save Frank's life under suspicious circumstances - making him the scapegoat for everything the state had failed to protect Frank from. Dr Simmons' had to go through an entire closed trial based on his supposed abuse of a child.

When Frank was finally brought into hospital, his previous injuries had shown up on x-rays. Some of his broken bones hadn't been set and had healed oddly, which left visible evidence for the scan to see. Then there was the scar tissue, and the hairline fractures that hadn't come from the fall. Frank had been beaten until his bones broke again and again, and the state was finally being confronted with the evidence of this. And with the appearance of Dr Simmons, the police finally had somebody they thought they could blame. I had unwittingly told them that Dr Simmons used to visit Frank at night, and they had drawn their own conclusions from there.

After the psychologists assessment had pronounced Frank too ill, and therefore unfit to witness, the only testimony the court heard was that of the Doc himself. I had to say, for a man who was supposedly crazy, Dr Simmons sure knew how to explain a point succinctly. We had heard the entire story piece by piece, and there was absolutely no doubt that the Doc hadn't been trying to harm Frank at all. So then with nothing left to charge him with, they court-marshalled him for deserting the army - which everyone knew was a complete fallacy, and a miscarriage of justice

Dr Simmons kept his cool, and disproved their arguments over and over again. There were so many things that came out at that trial that we weren't allowed to tell Frank, and that was the hardest part. Going to visit Frank, and keeping our lips tightly pressed together lest we told him things we shouldn't. Dr Simmons had known Frank's father, and the story he told us was incredible. The judge spent majority of the cross-examination reminding Doc that it was a crime to commit perjury. But his story never changed.

Standing in the witness box on the first day back in November, Dr Simmons had cut a forlorn figure. Someone had provided him with his own clothes, but they were crumpled, and his hair was uncut. Mother and I were sitting in the public gallery, which was virtually empty. I just recognised Alicia and Alicia's mother across the other side, Alicia's mother was white-faced, her lips pressed tightly together as she observed her ex-husband for the first time in a decade. I wondered if she regretted all the lies she had told Alicia about her father now. Normally I would have gone over to see them, but Mom and I glanced at each other and silently made the executive decision to wait until afterwards before starting the family conference.

Dr Simmons looked exhausted, but seemed to pull himself together and swore the oath in a deep strong voice. When asked to state his name and address, he looked faintly embarrassed. "My title is Dr Simmons" he said slowly, looking up at the judge. "And I have currently no fixed address." The judge frowned from her seat, but made no comment. We then heard that the trial was an investigation into the potential abuse of a child. It was literally only at that point then that we realised the state was pinning Frank's abuse on the doctor - a man he had never even let through the front door. The opening speeches from both sides were tedious, but when Dr Simmons' lawyer began to question him, we all leaned forwards. Dr Simmons looked up at the judge once more, and spoke softly. "Would it be acceptable for me to merely explain my story to the court? I feel there is no other way to explain everything, and of course I will answer any questions afterwards."

The judge looked formidable as she leaned forwards, as though trying to assess whether or not Dr Simmons was trying to get anything past her. "Very well then Mr Simmons" she eventually said, in a crisp accent. "You may speak. However, please do not waste the time of the court with fallacies." Dr Simmons nodded, and thanked her. He then spoke to a well dressed man at his side, before turning to the judge once more. Even with his back to us, he struck a surprisingly imposing figure.

"I joined the army nearly twenty years ago, when I was eighteen, young and naive" Dr Simmons began. "I was initially training to be an active part of the military, but eventually realised this wasn't the path for me. I couldn't handle the shooting, the fighting and the violence. So I stayed within the army, and re-trained as a psychiatrist to work with the troops."

The entire courtroom was holding its breath, as the story unfolded. "I had been in the army for three years by the time I qualified, and the same year, I was also married. Two years later, my daughter was born." Dr Simmons inclined his head towards Alicia, and Alicia's mother hissed loudly between her teeth, breaking the silence. The judge raised her head from the defendant, and fixed Alicia's mother with a sharp warning look. Dr Simmons ignored her, and continued talking. "Of course, the army had paid for all my training. I was locked into an unbreakable contract for the next six years, and so I spent most of my time overseas. However, I returned home to see my wife and daughter every six months which was as often as I could."

"When my daughter was four - so around eleven years ago - a man was moved into my care. His name was Frank Ierø Sr, and he was a young officer rising steadily through the ranks. He had been placed into my care so I could assess his mental fitness to return to duty, after suffering head trauma in a terrorist attack some weeks previously. He suffed from recurrent nightmares and flashbacks."

Dr Simmons paused for breath. "The more time we spent together though, the more I realised what hadn't been reported to senior members of the military. Lieutenant Ierø had not just suffered a head injury, he had also lost a portion of his family in the explosion - an ex-girlfriend he hadn't seen in years, and a six year old son whose existence he had only just learned of. That six year old, was Frank Ierø Jr."

It seemed like nobody was moving. We had all turned to statues, as we listened intently. My mind was racing at a thousand miles an hour. Frank had clearly told me his father died in the explosion. According to Frank, his father had never made it out of the terrorist attack. So why was Dr Simmons claiming they had known each other after the date the man supposedly died?

Dr Simmons allowed a moment for the information to sink in before he spoke again. "Nobody gave me the details on how exactly the bombing had happened, so I initally assumed it was army related. But then Lieutenant Ierø told me that the attack hadn't been the army mission I had previously thought. In fact, it had happened whilst he was on leave in New Jersey itself. He told me how he had been running late for a family meeting. It was some big family crisis I don't really remember the details of. Something like the parents of his ex-girlfriend had allegedly only just informed him that his son existed - he hadn't realised he was a father until the child was six. From what I remember, he said they had all arranged to meet at a restaurant. But prior commitments made him ten minutes late - and just as he arrived at the restaurant they were due to meet at, the bomb exploded."

"Lieutenant Ierø suffered a head injury which left him with temporary amnesia. He wandered the streets for a few days, before the police picked him up. They ID'd him, sent him to hospital, and then allowed him to return for active duty some weeks later. Which was of course, when I met him. We became...friends, I suppose you could say. When Lieutenant Ierø had nowhere else to go, he would stay with my family while we were on leave." I glanced sideways again. The look on the ex-Mrs Simmons' face was sour enough to curdle milk. Alicia looked petrified as she looked at her mother.

"We exchanged photographs of our families, in case anything ever happened to us." Dr Simmons continued quietly. "Even though Iero's family was already dead, I think it comforted him that I accepted the photograph. But then within another year, I was divorced. Iero was sent away with another platoon, and I was left alone." The quick way the Doc brushed over his divorce was clearly disturbing Alicia's mother, who looked ready for an outburst at any moment. None of us missed the warning looks the judge was shooting her

"After a while I became...disillusioned. I felt that the army was doing no good, and we were fighting a war we couldn't win. Every day I spoke to men who had seen their companions shot dead in front of their eyes, who had seen children blown to pieces and civilians slaughtered. I had to fix the insides of their heads, make it all better. How could I make it better? What was it all for?"

"Years passed. I felt myself grow cold. My daughter was growing up in a world that didn't involve me, and I couldn't bring myself to taint her with the violence I lived with everyday. I didn't fight my ex-wife when she informed me I was not welcome to visit my child. I ate, slept and breathed my work. I watched young men I had counselled die. I was so frozen inside, completely lost in stasis. Somehow, five years passed me by and I never changed. The outside world doesn't seem to matter when you live in the confines of the military."

"Then one day I found myself back in New Jersey. The army had sent me to speak to a group of young people about choosing the army as a career. Even as I spoke to them, I watched their bright faces light up with excitement at the world I was describing. It was a lie, and I hated myself for it. I remembered how eager I had been at that age - and where it had all led me. I was thirty two, and I had nothing to show for it. An ex-wife, a daughter who I thought I would never see again, and a string of dead comrades."

"I finished speaking to the youngsters. They were so eager, and so enthusiastic. Eleven year olds, too young to be cynical, too young to be afraid. Then as I was leaving with a heavy heart, I overheard one of the adults mentors speaking to another. She mentioned a name; Frank Ierø. I nearly passed out - it had been five years since I had heard that name. The Frank Ierø I had known was an adult, and away somewhere overseas fighting battles with his platoon. Then I remembered the photograph I still kept tucked inside my old notebook. There had been a child too, a six year old child called Frank Ierø. A child whose father thought he was dead."

"I realised the child wouldn't be six years old anymore. How many years had it been since I had made that promise to his father? But what could I do? I had made a promise, and in the army you never break the promises made to your comrades. I used my influence to get hold of an address, and I tried to find this Frank Ierø. But when I found him, I was not welcome. There was a man and a woman living with him. I knocked on the door one Saturday and explained I was looking for Frank Ierø, and began to tell them why. I was almost thrown off the balcony by an exceptionally violent man, who raged, swore and threatened to attack me if I did not leave. So, I left."

"I left the army at night - just packed my things and walked out. I adopted a false name, and moved back to Jersey. I did volunteer counselling with local teenagers, and worked part-time in a bookshop. I studied subjects from all over the world, learnt foreign languages in the evenings, and made sure I covered my tracks. The army could never be allowed to find me. But most of all, I watched Frank Ierø. I saw when he stopped attending school regularly, and I noticed when fresh bruises appeared on his arms, or he walked like he was in pain. I watched him grow thinner, and I raged in the knowledge that I could do nothing without compromising my identity and risking being court-marshalled for desertion"

"I knew within days when the adults had left him. I actually watched them leave one morning. They simply carried out their bags, climbed into a car I had never seen before, and left. No warning, no explanation, nothing. I waited for them to come back, but they never did. I saw Frank occasionally in the weeks that followed, and I was relieved. He looked fine and normal, and he went to various places speaking to various adults. But then one day, I didn't see him. And then he never came out of the flat again."

"So one night I went to visit him. He wouldn't let me in, and he wouldn't even speak to me. I think he was about fourteen by this point, but his actions were those of a terrified child. So I did the only thing I could possibly think of - I gave him the photographs from his father. And then I simply talked to him. I sat outside his door every single night without fail. I gave up my job so I could sleep in the day and visit Frank at night. I talked to him for hours, telling him everything I knew about the world. I told him about the places as had seen, and about the subjects I had learnt in the bookshop."

The judge coughed slightly, bringing us sharply back to the present. We all stirred, as though realising for the first time that we weren't living in a dream. Dr Simmons could tell a story and let you become lost in it. You no longer saw the tall raggedy shrink in the witness box, but instead saw an idealistic young man, morphing into a hopelessly altruistic adult. Dr Simmons allowed us a moment, before continuing on as though determined to finish his tale now it was begun.

"I don't know why I told him so many things. I guess it was so I had something to say to him, rather than just sitting outside the door in silence. And I had been watching him for so long, that I knew why he never spoke to me. From the way I had seen him interact with adults, it was beyond obvious to me that he was traumatised. So I tried to explain that too." Dr Simmons smiled wryly at us. "I am a psychiatrist after all. The least I could do was try and prepare him for the kind of stunts his mind would try and pull if he ever made it out of that pit. Things like flashbacks, panic attacks, nightmares and the rest."

"I suppose what I technically did was give him a grounding in basic psychology. But I just wanted him to understand his own reactions if I ever persuaded him to leave."

Suddenly the judge leaned forwards, and interrupted Dr Simmons. "Excuse me sir" she said sharply, somehow making her tone confrontational. "Yes your honour?" Dr Simmons replied, turning to her. He seemed entirely unperturbed at being addressed as such. The judge fixed him with another look. "Can you please explain to the court precisely how you know young Mr Ierø was on the other side of the door, if - as you claim - he wasn't speaking to you."

Dr Simmons smiled, as though enjoying a private joke. "The first night, your honour." He said softly. "I spoke to him though the door. I told him who I was, and I gave him the photographs to prove it, posting them through the letter box. One photograph was a portrait of his whole family. The other photograph was myself, standing at the army base with his father. I heard him take the photographs, and then I fell asleep outside the door waiting for Frank to say anything back. I didn't wake up until the morning. It was a cold night - late autumn - and the air was freezing. But when I woke up, I was covered in a blanket. There was only one person who could have done that."

That revelation almost brought me to tears. It was so stereotypical Frank - putting others before himself, even if it meant he had to go without basic things like warmth. Dr Simmons seemed to have finished his story, and he stood calmly, gazing up at the judge as though waiting for her to decide his fate.

Very little was decided that day.

/

Over the weeks that followed, every detail of Dr Simmons story was covered again and again, until we could all recite it backwards. Witnesses were brought in from the army, from the bookshop Dr Simmons had once worked at, from Franks neighbours. Even teachers from Frank's early schooling were brought in, to testify whether or not Frank's mother had ever mentioned a father.

We were informed that efforts were being made to contact Frank's father, but that if he was currently away with his platoon they would be unable to contact him until he had finished his tour. We were all forbidden to tell Frank anything. It killed me, knowing that I could ease some of his pain by telling him his father was alive. But I was more afraid of ruining his recovery process, and so I kept my lips tightly shut and simply spoke with him of other things.

Over the weeks, Frank and I grew closer and closer, making it even harder for me to lie to him. I was allowed to visit him alone these days - take the train into New York, and walk to the medical building on my own. The receptionist, the nurses and even the doctors came to know me well. They gave me advice on how to deal with Frank on a particular day too, which was such a relief. The hardest part of the last few months had been not knowing how to respond to a particular situation, and constantly feeling like my reactions were wrong, and I was making him worse.

Some days, I would greet the staff at the front desk, and then one of the nurses would warn me Frank had just gone through a particularly difficult therapy session and needed careful handling. I would consider the best way to handle the situation as I walked down the carpeted cosy hallways, passing the rooms of the other residents, before I reached Frank. The place wasn't what you would expect from a psychiatric institution, to be perfectly honest. It wasn't luxury by any stretch of the imagination, but it certainly wasn't all white walls and linoleum floors like a hospital either.

The hallways were cream with beige carpets, carefully neutral in a way which amused the artist in me. I fantasised about bringing in great buckets of paint, and creating a swirling vortex of colour across these plain walls, using giant brushes and just my hands. I wondered if Frank would join me if I did, and my smile widened at the thought. Frank's room itself was also painted cream and beige, but his bed in the corner was decorated with a royal blue cotton cover and burgundy pillows. Residents were allow to bring their own sheets and blankets, so my mother had bought those for Frank in the hope it would help him feel more like a part of the family.

It was a good thing they were sturdy cotton. Frank had tried to rip them to shreds with his bare hands in his first week.

/

I visited Frank on the final day of Dr Simmons' trial. Closing arguments on both sides weren't due to be started until afternoon, and so after I woke up so early, I simply left before anyone could stop me. It was only nine in the morning by the time I arrived, probably the earliest I had ever visited Frank. I wasn't a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, especially not on a day when I was exempted from school under 'special circumstances.' But something in my head just told me I needed this.

Frank thought he was broken. But if he was broken, why was it that it was always his voice and his touch that made me feel better? I wasn't even sure why I felt so worried about the outcome of this trial. I just knew I needed to see Frank, for the comfort he always provided. For somebody so tormented by darkness, it was a miracle the way just a word from him could sooth my own fears away.

When I arrived at the institute, the surprised receptionist told me that Frank had just finished breakfast and was going to his therapy session. No visiting hours were schedualed that day. I didn't know what to say to counter her logic, so I simply turned up the wattage of my smile and told her the truth. After today, we would know whether or not a member of Frank's 'family' would be incarcerated. Even if Frank didn't know that, I needed to be close to him. The receptionist looked wary, but ageed. The entire institute knew how close Frank and I were.

When Frank finished his therapy session, he came straight into the communal visiting room where I was waiting for him. "Gerard!" He said in surprise, a smile stretching across his face. "What are you doing here?"

Frank was looking better everytime I visited. Now they were regulating his meals everyday he was beginning to put on weight again, and his eyes were gradually losing the sunken, hollow look. I hadn't asked because I felt it would have been impolite, but I assumed they had also found a way to stop him from purging after meals. Frank's skin was gradually becoming clearer, and the yellowish tinge was fading from his cheeks. Even stupid things like his nails being stronger or his hair being shinier made me smile in relief.

"I just came to visit you" I winked at him, the familiar relief washing through me at his presence. I pulled him into a quick hug, tugging gently on his newly cut hair, as he giggled and squirmed away.

It was entirely my fault, if Frank's hair itself was rather different anyway these days. On one of our first unsupervised visits, Frank had turned to me with a request that bordered on desperation. "I need to look different Gerard, I can't stay like this. Please help me" he had pleaded, looking at me with his puppy dog eyes. He had wanted me to cut all his hair off, right down to the scalp, with my art knife - which he knew I never left home without. Just cut it all away. But it was just not going to happen. Ever since he had begun washing it properly, the long raven strands were silky and smooth, falling around his face giving him an elegance no other part of him managed to possess. Although it highlighted his sunken features, it was still his best aspect by far. And he wanted me to cut it all off? Not happening.

I mean, I wasn't an idiot. I understood why he wanted me to get rid of it. I knew what it felt like when life became too much, and you needed to change something drastic just to make it better. I remembered Alicia once joking about how a lot of women had their hair cut after a breakup, or got a tattoo, or something else to mark them on the outside as changed. Sometimes in life we needed to feel like we were different people, like we could shed our past like a skin and move forwards.

So instead we came to an agreement eventually about Frank's hair. I snuck in a proper pair of scissors and a bunch of hair dye. Then one day we locked ourselves into one of the bathroom, giggling nervously like schoolgirls. First of all I cut Frank's hair to his specifications, and then I slapped on the bleach and the dye. Now it was dark and long down the middle, and flopped over his eyes, whilst the sides were cropped shorted and bleached almost white. It suited Frank more than we could possibly have imagined. He looked devastating.

"What are you staring at?" Frank rolled his eyes at me, sitting down beside me. "And why are you here on a weekday Gee?"

I shrugged my shoulders at him and smiled. "Just wanted to see you, I guess" I murmured, and opened my arms again. Frank embraced me unreservedly, both of us falling into a familiar pattern. In his arms I felt entirely safe. I could forget all the lessons I was missing because of this goddamn trial, and the fact that my final exams were weeks away and I was still spending my evenings drawing instead of studying. I could block out the image of what Dr Simmons had looked like in the witness stand day after day. And I could pretend that the whole world comprised of Frank and I, alone in our little bubble. I could hold Frank close, shut my eyes, lean back against the arm of the sofa and imagine a world where he would love me back.

"Gee?" Frank asked, after several moments had passed.

"Hmmm?" I replied, unwilling to stir from my comfortable position, leaning into the cushions with my arms wrapped platonically around Frank.

"Sing for me?" He requested. I was surprised - it had been so long since I had sang for anybody, and I was slightly embarrassed. But I would have done anything Frank wanted. "What do you want me to sing?" I asked, my brow furrowing.

"Anything. Make something up!" Frank said, moving slightly backwards from me, and gazing at me expectantly.

I winced, and coughed slighlty. And then I sang.

_"We can leave this world, leave it all behind  
>We can steal this car if your folks don't mind<br>We can live forever if we've got the time..." _I improvised, tapping out a beat on Frank's knee.

_"I'm the only friend that makes you cry  
>You're a heart attack in black hair dye<br>So just save yourself, and I'll hold them back tonight..."_

I kept singing, a smile beginning to stretch across my lips. Frank knew just how to make me feel better, even if he didn't know why.

As the song gradually came to a close, I reluctantly pulled away from Frank to sit upright. Was it just my imagination, or did he look disappointed when I moved too? Then I remembered the other surprise I had brought that day, to show Frank. I wasn't sure how he was going to react, but I figured I may as well do it anyway. I took a deep breath.

"Frank, I brought this for you to look at. I think you should see it"

From my bag I pulled out several folded sheets of paper, and passed them to Frank, my hands shaking slightly from nerves as he took the white sheaf from my outstretched fingers.

Was this a bad idea?

/

/

/

Sorry to end it there, but the chapter was really getting ridiculously long, and I couldn't find another cut off point. Thank you as always, for reading. Reviews are appreciated as ever.

_"Hello angel tell me where we go from here..." _

~Hana Belladonna xoxoxox


	32. Famous Last Words

**Here we are again. **

**This story should be winding down in the next six chapters or so, and at this point all I can say is thank you for sticking with it for so long.**

**/**

/

/

FPOV

"Music college?"

My incredulous exclamation echoed too loudly across the small room, and Gerard flinched. I watched as he shrugged his shoulders, trying very hard to look blasé. "Why not?" He asked reasonably. "You're a fucking music genius Frank, you might as well get an education out of it."

I tried to formulate a reply, but nothing came to mind. Music college? What on earth was he thinking? I had missed over four years of education, there wasn't even the slightest possibility I could succeed in this. I looked down slowly at the paper in my hands, and tried to work out what to say. Gerard was still sitting there looking at me with puppy dog eyes, probably hoping my silence meant I was considering it.

"No." I shook my head firmly and tried to push the papers back towards Gerard. "Nope. Not happening."

Gerard looked crushed then, like I'd just ruined all his hopes. "What?" I asked, probably more sharply than I should have.

"It's...in New York" he told me softly. I knew Gerard well enough by this point to recognise when he was withholding information, and I narrowed my glare on him. "Why New York?" I asked warily.

Gerard took a deep breath. I noticed his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap, and wondered what this was all about. Finally, he spoke:

"You know I finish high school in a few weeks, don't you?"

"Yeah?"

"And I have to do something next year...I want to be an artist"

"I know..." I said, even more warily. This was ground we had covered many times before, I wasn't sure why he was repeating himself.

Gerard sighed. "Igotintiartcollegeinnewyork" he burst out suddenly.

"What?" I asked, nonplussed.

"I got into an art college in New York" he told me more calmly.

I was nonplussed. Gerard had always told me he wanted to be an artist, but we had never really talked about college or leaving NJ. In retrospect I knew I had been selfish and introverted during the time I lived with him, but in all the long conversations we had had during my incarceration, never once had Gerard mentioned applying to Art College.

Part of me wanted to scream at him, and ask him why he hadn't told me - ask him why he wanted to leave me. A few months ago, this news would have sent me into a meltdown. But I couldn't do that, not when Gerard looked so nervous about my response anyway. I brought to mind what Lindsey had taught me, and concentrated in breathing slowly. When I was calm, I spoke again.

"When did this happen?"

Gerard shrugged. "My art teacher told me to apply. I filled in the forms, sent them my portfolio, and never expected to hear anything from them. Then last week I got a letter telling me they were offering me a place."

It was only then as he spoke about it that I saw the light behind his eyes, the pride and joy that he had been accepted. It made me really appreciate that in the midst of all this, his first thought had still been of me, and how to keep me close to him. It made me feel warm inside, and reinforced my hope that he might return my feelings.

But. Music college, no. I couldn't do it. Gerard was an artist, it was in his blood. I wasn't a musician, I was just a kid that liked playing guitar. I told Gerard regretfully that I didn't feel that applying would be the right thing to do.

Gerard didn't look too disappointed; he shrugged his shoulders and told me it was my decision. Which instantly made me suspicious - Gerard never gave up on anything that easily. I remembered all the times we had had blazing arguments over the smallest things, because my boy was just too damn stubborn.

Once several months ago, Gerard had even bluntly refused to eat for almost a week, until I did. It should have been impossible for a healthy teenager to last without food for longer than I could, but Gerard wasn't changing his mind. The meltdown occurred after I had eaten nothing but an apple in three days (and purged, but I managed to keep that part hidden from Gerard.) He had come after me, and first pleaded with me to eat the food his mother had cooked. When I had sullenly ignored him, he grew angry, before finally informing me he wasn't going to eat until I did.

Over the following few days I watched him carefully, eating nothing myself and waiting for him to crack. Gerard was such a stubborn motherfucker though. He skipped breakfast lunch and dinner, drinking nothing but water. By the second day I could see the toll it was taking on him, and by the third he was beginning to get dizzy. It made me feel sick to watch him, but I couldn't make myself eat - even as I tried to make him eat. By Friday Gerard was drinking water by the gallon, desperately trying to fill the emptiness in his stomach. I however, was doing fine - after years of practice, I could go for eighteen days without eating before my body started to shut down.

I couldn't bear to watch Gerard after a while. All through the Friday night I slept with my head under the pillow trying to ignore Gerard's groans of pain as his stomach rebelled against him. Saturday morning I gave in. By six am I was shaking him awake, cringing as his face twisted at the fresh hunger pangs the morning brought. "Okay okay!" I hissed as quietly as I could. "I'll eat!"

I will never forget the way Gerard's face lit up. He rose and dressed quickly, and then without waiting for a conventional breakfast, led me out the front door headed straight to the Early Bird, the tiny cafe he had taken me to on the first day of school. The place was deserted on a Saturday, and so Gerard pushed me into a booth at the back and then ordered a full breakfast for each of us. The first mouthful tasted if relief; the second of failure. Gerard just told me to eat it in small portions at first. I hadn't eaten in over a week, Gerard in five days. Our stomach weren't used to the rich food we were pushing into them, and we tried to take it slowly. In spite of these precautions however, we both suffered from cramps all day.

I felt horrible, knowing the fat I had put into my body. But, Gerard made it worth it. His face as he ate and watched me eat, made every moment worth it. And more than that, he was so damn stubborn that I knew if I hadn't given in, he would have literally starved himself to death. I learn my lesson that day, and never pushed him quite so far again.

So yes, Gerard Way certainly possessed the kind of tenacity that made me suspicious when he gave up our music college argument. But from the determined set of his shoulders as he rested his chin in his cupped hands, I could see there was little point in furthering our argument.

Gerard left around lunchtime today, telling me he needed to be somewhere by early afternoon. He seemed agitated, and I held him tighter than usual as I said goodbye, pressing my face into his much higher shoulder, inhaling his scent. After I released him, he passed me back the Music College forms, before bounding down the corridor - so fast I couldn't return the paper.

/

Lindsey thought Music College was a fantastic idea.

I sat in the large comfortable armchair in front of her desk, scowling at the smiling therapist. Lindsey was dressed as usual in tight yet casual jeans, a white t-shirt and some kind of feminine combat boots that I could see from the way she leaned back in her chair, propping her feet up on the overflowing desktop.

As far as therapists went, Lindsey was far from typical. Majority of the shrinks who walked the halls of this facility wore professional suits every day, slicked their greying hair down across their receding pates and carried heavy folders full of patient files wherever they went. Most of the women were even worse - old, plump and very much aware of this, covering their sagging folds of flesh with flowery shirts and forcing their poor hips into tight skirts and stockings to maintain a semblance of dignity. On the rare occasion I spoke to the other patients of the facility, they told me how lucky I was to get Lindsey.

Lindsey was about twenty years younger than most of the others, and her casual clothes marked her clearly apart. I didn't know why exactly she had been assigned to me rather than one of the others, but I was grateful, because with her I felt comfortable and relaxed. In fact I was even more grateful I was gay - had I not been, I'm sure I would have been battling more than just trust issues when I spoke to the woman.

It was easy to think her youth and casual appearance meant she would let you get away with anything, but inexperience proved to be no barrier, and Lindsey's pretty face hid a quick intelligent mind and a will of iron. So much so, that I almost regretted telling her about Gerard's suggestion at first; I should have realised how enthusiastic her response would be.

"Don't you remember the conversations we've had about college before?" Lindsey chastised me when I told her I wasn't even going to consider applying.

I shrugged awkwardly, not sure how to reply. Sure, we had talked about it before, but these were elusive conversations without any real decision making involved. I had spent my entire life thinking that a future was not going to happen for me, never expecting to make it past my eighteenth birthday. How was I supposed to reconcile myself to realising I had a future now? College, leaving Greenwood, perhaps even moving out of New Jersey...all these seemed fantastical bizarre concepts, and yet I had to accept that they were all going to happen.

"It's just..." I struggled to vocalise my internal battle to Lindsey, but she waited patiently until I found the correct words. "Guitar has been my secret for so many years. The one thing that I can actually do. These forms..." Here I gestured helplessly to the sheets of paper on the desk. "These forms say you have to submit an audition piece. What if I'm not good enough?"

Lindsey leaned forward, interlocking her pale fingers to form a cup for her chin. She said nothing, allowing me to think for a little longer before she spoke. "And what if you were good enough? If the school rejects you, you will be no worse that you would be, if you don't apply in the first place."

I shrugged, unwilling to accept it. "Maybe" I said at last, not wishing to continue into a long debate about it.

Lindsey smiled. "And what if you did succeed, and got a place at the college? I've never heard you play guitar, but Gerard has - and he believes in you."

Her words made sense. Too much sense. Again, I shrugged and changed the subject.

Later that night as I was sitting in the crowded canteen, my gaze fell upon those sitting around me. The age range was enormous, and the gender divide fairly equal. But the other patients scared me and I rarely interacted with them except during group therapy. The noise level in the room was enough to drive anybody crazy. I wished I could have drowned it out with headphones, but we weren't allowed anything that resembled string or rope. For the same reason, shoelaces and belts were confiscated upon arrival.

There were the sounds of crying. Someone was always crying. A nurse sat opposite me, watching me without much interest. She would stay with me until bedtime, taking me to the bathroom and essentially not leaving my side. Even though it had been over three weeks since I had last attempted to purge, they still didn't trust me. This has always upset me greatly, and I glared at the hapless woman. She glared back.

The room was huge and sterile, like a school lunch hall, with individual tables most of which had only a few patients on each. The floor was a sickly green linoleum to make cleaning up the vomit easier, something which displeased me. I didn't like this room, it reminded me too much of Belleville high, and the nightmare attending school briefly with Gerard had been. The only difference was that here, the chairs and tables were bolted to the ground.

My paper plate contained a large pile of salad. I had been in the institution for a total of three weeks when I announced my intent to become vegetarian. I had multiple reasons for this choice, none of which I explained to the staff, with the sole exception of Lindsey. I was still having difficulty eating altogether, and meat repulsed me more than most other foods. The concept that I was ingesting what had once been a living breathing animal was vile to me, and turned my stomach. The other patients (at least the ones who could pull themselves together enough to give a damn about anything other than their own problems) found my choice incomprehensible by the whole, and pestered me about it in group therapy.

"I have no desire to support a consumer industry which annually makes millions from the slaughter of innocent animals" I would reply to every query, keeping my expression deadpan. To tell the truth I didn't give a shit about the flesh industry, but it was a better excuse than "it makes me feel sick and you won't let me vomit here, and since the vegetarian food is so shitty I can get away with eating less"

The chefs in this place supposedly catered for vegetarians, but catered was a loose term. The food was rarely palatable, and often just a rubbery pile of meat substitutes which disgusted me. I spent more time eating leafy green stuff here than I had at Gerard's house; even Donna Way cooked better vegetables than the ones the institution provided.

I was still staring into space and ignoring the nurse, when I heard a voice at my elbow. I turned to see one of the few adolescent patients I recognised, a familiar face in this sea of unfamiliarity. The age range was large in here. It probably spanned from about fourteen to seventy. However, the vast majority was older than me, and therefore separated for most occasions. Those of us who were still under twenty five were placed in the same group therapy sessions, and it was probably from here that I recognised this kid.

He was taller than me, but that's not saying much. He was skinny, but not as skinny as me. Again, not saying much. His hair was black and spiky, and the sharp lines of his jaw gave him the overall impression of angles. His voice when he spoke, was somehow angular too. "Hey" he drawled casually. "I saw you in group this morning. I like your hair."

I tugged self consciously on the long dark middle section which flopped into my face, amidst the bleached side sections. The staff had been furious when they saw what I had let Gerard do to my poor abused hair. This was the first compliment I had ever received on it, from anyone except Gee. "Thanks" I muttered, not sure what else to say. Sure, my mental health had seemed to improve lately. However, that did not mean I had any better social interaction skills.

The kid sat down next to me without an invitation, placing his tray of food next to mine. "I'm Jimmy" he said calmly, and began eating as though there was nothing unusual occurring. People didn't usually talk to me. I was one of the quiet ones, one of the boring ones that spent their first month crying and their second month reading. What else was there to do in this place? I wasn't interesting like the man who insisted on wearing business suits every day, and told people in group that he was getting better when everyone knew he'd been in isolation last week for trying to hang himself by ripping up his bed sheets. I wasn't dramatic like the tiny 90 pound schizophrenic girl who occasionally began to hurl herself against the walls screaming and crying because she saw things coming out of it, and had to be sedated and hauled away by the psych team.

Anorexic. Self-harmer. Suicidal. I was pretty tame in comparison to a lot of the poor souls trapped inside these walls. Whatever reason Jimmy had for sitting down here, it wasn't my fascinating problems. The nurse still sitting opposite seemed displeased by this development, and her eyes darted backwards and forwards between Jimmy and I. For that reason alone, I decided to talk to him.

"What're you in here for?" I asked.

"Homicidal ideation" he told me without batting an eyelid. "Oh." I said. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

"You?" Jimmy asked. "Eating disorder" I told him, deciding to keep it simple. No need to go into detail. "Oh." He said, imitating me.

I wasn't sure whether or not he was mocking me, until he caught my eye and burst out laughing. The sound rang out in the crowded room. Laughter that wasn't hysterical or medication-induced wasn't usually heard here outside of visiting hours. I stayed quiet, unsure how to respond. Jimmy watched me for a few more moments, before returning to his food.

The kid was crazy. Homicidal ideation. I didn't want to say anything, so I just kept my eyes on my plate. More than anything I suddenly realised, he reminded me of my Aunt Rio. I tried not to think about her or my uncle too often, but the line of crazy that ran through this kid's voice reminded me of both of them. Unconsciously, I shifted further away. For the first time I wondered whether my aunt and uncle might not have been entirely sane themselves.

The remainder of our allocated mealtime was spent in silence. When it was over, Jimmy left with a cheery "see you later!" I stood more slowly, and let the nurse walk me back to the central common room, where she sat unobtrusively on a chair at the back, as the other patients filed in, piled onto the chairs and sofas and switched on the television.

From my seat on the edge of the sofa, I pulled a book out from where I kept it hidden in the hollow between the cushion and base of the sofa, and opened it to the correct page. It was a fantasy; one of the few books deemed non-triggering by the staff who managed that area of censorship. In spite of the noise surrounding me and the irritating reality TV show playing in the background, I managed to lose myself in the story until it was time for lights out.

Then, peace at last.

/

I wasn't expecting anything unusual to happen the next morning. God knows, we'd all had enough drama around this place for one day and it wasn't even daylight. We were all woken at five AM, by a bloodcurdling screech. One of the residents three doors down from me was throwing some kind of fit - trying to bang his head through the wall by the loud knocking sound of it - screaming his lungs out as he did so.

I wasn't impressed. I buried my head under my pillow and tried desperately to get back to sleep. The screams gradually grew quieter as what I would presume to be the night shift psych team took him away. Another day at the Greenwood Institution for the mentally ill. If it's happy ever afters you want, stay away from the past.

The day was normal. Breakfast, group therapy, health check up, and finally visiting hour. I wasn't sure if Gerard would be visiting today - it didn't make sense, considering he had been here yesterday and it was still mid week. I was resigned to spending the hour inside finishing up that fantasy novel I was so engrossed in and just hoping no-one disturbed me.

However to my surprise, when visiting hour began I was ushered into a meeting room where I found the entire Way family sitting there waiting for me. Gerard, Donna and Donald, even Mikey. Even more unusual, were the huge smiles on everybody's face. Even Mikey didn't look quite as sour as usual.

"Frank!" Donna burst out, pulling me into a hug. I returned it warmly, used to and grateful for Donna's exuberance by this point. Gerard was next, and as he pulled me into his arms he whispered quickly in my ear "I wasn't here yesterday, okay?"

I smirked; I couldn't help myself. My boy had been breaking the rules to see me, how could I not be flattered?

As I released him, I sat down in a chair opposite everyone, and smiled. I was totally relaxed in the presence of these people, they had recently begun to finally feel like my family. I was about to ask a generic question about how everyone was doing and more importantly what they were doing here on a weekday, when Donald cleared his throat, and leaned forwards.

"Frank." He began solemnly. Donald was always such a taciturn man, it amused me the way he began every conversation as though it were life and death.

"Yes?"

"We came to see you today partly to check up on you, but more importantly because of some recent events that have happened which you need to be aware of."

"Okay?" I said, slightly more warily.

Donald took a moment to gather his thoughts, before speaking. "Do you remember the man who visited you at night, during the years before you came to live with our family?" He asked.

"Yes" I replied, and then keen not to have a repetition I told him "And I know everything that happened the night on the cliffs, and that Dr Simmons helped save me. Gerard told me everything."

Donald flashed a warning glance at Gerard, but didn't say anything. Instead, he said to me:

"Good. That will save time. There are many things we haven't been able to tell you over the last few months, due not only to our own confidentiality, but also to your condition. However you have improved beyond all recognition, and the legalities have also been settled. Therefore we are finally in a position to be able to tell you everything."

I waited.

"After your excursion that night, Dr Simmons faced criminal charges for his role. He was charged with child abuse, endangerment of life, and also desertion - a previous charge from his days in the army."

I knew the shock must have shown on my face, because Donald continued quickly "As of yesterday, he was cleared of all charges. And now we can finally tell you what Dr Simmons revealed during his trial."

Gerard shifted his weight, before leaning across and taking my hand. The warm dryness of his palm against mine comforted me, and I interlaced our finger as I waited for Donald to say more.

"Frank, what do you know about your father?"

Of all the questions he could have asked, that was the one I was least expecting. Caught off guard I shrugged. "Erm, not much. When I was younger, my grandparents told me he killed himself. But then one day my Mama told me that was a lie, and that he had been in the army the whole time and that my grandparents had lied to both of us."

My voice fell to a whisper. "She said she was going to meet him. She left. but she never came back. My Mama and my Father were both killed that night when the bomb exploded."

A mist of tears rose in my eyes, and I did my best to blink them away, ashamed that I was still so affected even this many years later.

Gerard looked stricken, and looked back at his own father, who was watching me carefully.

"Frank" Donald said carefully. "Dr Simmons gave evidence to the court that he knew your father."

I had already put those pieces together when I heard Dr Simmons had been in the army. It made sense as to why he had visited me. I nodded calmly. Donald looked at me as though I was missing something, and finally spoke again.

"When Dr Simmons met your father, he was the psychiatrist assigned by the army to treat him and return him to full health, before sending him back on duty. The treatment was to help him recover from amnesia, which occurred in a head injury. This head injury was sustained in a restaurant bombing in New Jersey."

The room was silent. All eyes were on me, as everybody waited for me to put the pieces together.

"Frank" Gerard said quietly. "As far as we know, your father is still alive - and he has no idea that you are alive too. He thought you were killed by the bomb just like your mother."

My father was still alive.

The seconds ticked by, one after another as everybody waited for me to say something.

The chuckles began small in my chest, and began slowly coming out of my mouth, before they developed into full-blown hysterical laughter. My mind wasn't working, I couldn't think, could understand what any of this meant. I laughed and I laughed, I laughed until I cried because really this was too funny. What a comedy of errors!

I laughed until my sides were aching and tears were rolling down my cheeks, and I laughed until I felt the needle pricking my arm and I laughed until I slowly slipped into the hazy dream world of unconsciousness.

The last thing I remembered seeing was Gerard's face. All I could think was _Why isn't he laughing too?_

_/_

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**Thank you for reading. See you next time. **

**~Hana Belladonna **


	33. My Way Home Is Through You

**I'm not convinced about these recent chapters, to be perfectly honest. My writing quality isnt horrifically bad, but it also leaves a lot to be desired. Nevermind. **

**Also now we are winding down towards the end of the story, it might be aappropriate time to suggest you all remind yourselves of the prologue, before continuing reading. **

/

GPOV

Of all the reactions Frank could have had, I admit I wasn't expecting him to go absolutely hysterical. We all stared in shock as he doubled over in front of us choking with mirth, completely unaware as to anything happening around him. I was struck dumb; surprisingly Mikey reacted fastest sticking his head out of the door and shouting for help when it became obvious Frank wasn't going to stop laughing anytime soon.

I kept hold of Frank's hand tightly and murmured platitudes which were supposed to be soothing to him, but it was obvious he couldn't see me. Tears were gathering in his eyes as he laughed, and it was hard to tell whether he was giggling or sobbing. I was frightened by the rictus his face was fixing itself into. This hysteria was worse than tears, I had no idea what do do in this situation.

There was a commotion at the end of the hall, a loud clattering noise was our only warning before a few adults in clinical garb burst into the room. The woman in the lead, tall and confident with greying hair tied tightly back, was clearly in charge; she took in the entire situation with a practiced eye before issuing directions to her peers. A subordinate quickly pulled a syringe from a trolley behind them filled with clear fluid, and tapped it to dispel any air bubbles. Nausea rose in my throat at the sight of the long vicious needle, but with Frank still giggling weakly beside me, and Mom and Dad clearly only trying to keep out of the way in the suddenly too-small and too-crowded room, I had to keep a grip on myself. I couldn't risk adding to the chaos by having a nervous breakdown. I swallowed, and kept my eyes on Frank's face, trying to make eye contact and pretend the needle wasn't there.

I saw the grimace pass across his face when the needle went in, and the way his eyes began to cloud over, his pupils lazily dilating. As the sedative took its full effect, he locked eyes with me and I saw sudden comprehension in them before Frank flopped weakly into my arms, completely out for the count. It was over.

Only then did any of the medics look at us, and even then it was to issue a brief order to 'stay there' before they had manoeuvred Frank out of my arms, onto a trolley and out of the room.

The silence after they had taken Frank away was profound, and we all looked at each other slightly nonplussed.

Mikey was the first to break the silence.  
>"Well, that didn't go as expected" he deadpanned.<p>

/

The previous day had been almost equally chaotic. After leaving Frank with the forms for Music College, I had been in a hurry to ensure I wasn't late for the final date of Dr Simmons' trial. We had all been desperate to tell Frank about his father, but if Dr Simmons was convicted there would probably be no point in telling Frank anything - because it would become impossible to ever find the mysterious lieutenant Iero without the help of Dr Simmons.

I arrived at the courthouse in a mad rush, earning the disapproving glare of the clerk as I dashed past her, slipping into the gallery next to my mother just in time ignoring her disapproving glare. Dr Simmons was just being brought into the dock in the well of the courtroom below us. He was clad in another innocuously plain suit. After the months the trial had lasted for, he looked exhausted, as though too much idiocy had brought him to his knees.

Upon looking around, I was surprised to find the gallery more crowded than I had seen it before. There was in fact, quite a large number of people attending. The case had been well publicised recently, as it was coming to a close, and the details had been pounced upon by the public with all the fervour of people more accustomed to murder than altruism in their state.

The press benches to my left contained more than a few reporters, notepads open, pens poised as they waited to add to the column inches they had already written over the past two months. The life story of Dr Simmons, the only man to ever escape the army for six years in pursuit of upholding a promise made to a comrade, who had allegedly dedicated six years of his life to a boy he had never met, and had then finally revealed himself in a harrowing rescue on the cliff tops on the eve this boys eighteenth birthday, only to be arrested at the scene and thrown into jail. The public couldn't decide whether Dr Simmons was a filthy child abuser, or a true hero of the likes they had rarely seen before. After the initial press coverage, I was grateful that my role had been all but forgotten in that wake of this drama.

The only empty seats to be found in the well of the courtroom were at the far end of the counsels bench awaiting the entrance of the defence attorney and his junior. Two extra policemen had been stationed on the door to explain to latecomers that only those on official business could now be accommodated in the courtroom.

Sitting on the left as they had on each occasion was Alicia, her mother, and Mikey for moral support. After the first few sessions, Alicia's mother had stopped looking enraged. Now she sat quietly, listening to everything that was said. She seemed empty, like a shell of the loud woman I had once known. Alicia looked worn down too, but she had Mikey next to her, never letting go of her hand. I can say many things about my brother, but during Alicia's time of need he never left her side.

The noise of uninvolved chatter ceased when the judge made his entrance. He stalked across to the three chairs on the centre of the stage, attempting to give an impression that nothing untoward was about to take place in the court that morning.

Having amply filled the centre chair he spent longer than usual arranging his pens and checking his notebook while he waited for the jury to take their places. "Good morning," he said once they had settled, the tone of his voice rather avuncular. "Members of the jury we have concluded with witnesses." Turning to the prosecution, the judge continued; "Counsel for the prosecution, you may now begin your closing speech"

I tried to pay attention, I really did, but the legalese by vast majority went straight over my head. The jury seemed to be paying attention, but I pitied the poor sods whose lot it was to understand all these complicated terms and phrases. All the closing speeches seemed to be always a long repetition of everything we had already heard over the past few months, and so I rolled my head back, leaned on my mothers shoulder and allowed my eyes to close letting the words flow over me.

The closing speech from the defence was the same, except it didn't make me want to punch somebody. I liked the defence attorney, he was young but enthusiastic, and seemed knowledgable. Everything he was saying made sense at least. Dr Simmons hadn't done any harm to anybody.

The judge then calmly stood, and summarised all the points raised. It was an excellent summary, I could admit. It covered all the points and all the evidence, and pointed out that at the time Dr Simmons deserted, he had already been diagnosed as suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and therefore could not be considered entirely in control of his actions.

The judge ended his summary by advising the jury to take their time. After all, he emphasised, a man's future was in the balance. However they should not forget that another man - I still could not reconcile myself to hearing little Frank referred to as a man - had almost lost his life.

At twelve minutes past two the jury filed out of the court to begin their deliberations. For the next two hours I curled up next to my mother in the crappy courthouse canteen drinking cheap watery coffee, and tried not to torture myself with thoughts about what I should have or should not have done. I had not been called as a witness upon my own request, but the statement I had originally given to the police had been referred to several times, and I kept thinking about all the things I should have mentioned also. Pointless questions, but nonetheless I mulled over them as we waited for the jury to return.

At two minutes past five, an announcement came over the tannoy. "All those involved in the Simmons case, please make their way back into court number four as the jury is returning"

Mom and I exchanged glances and then joined a stream of interested parties as we walked quickly down the corridor and filed back into the courtroom. Once they were settled, the judge reappeared and instructed the usher to summon the jury. As they entered the court, I couldn't help but notice that one or two of them were smiling and trying to hide it.

I was shaking as the usher stood and said: "would the foreman please rise"

The judge leaned forward and asked the foreman, "have you been able to reach a unanimous verdict?"

"We have m'lord" replied the foreman.

The judge nodded in the direction of the usher who bowed. "Members of the jury," he said, "do you find the prisoner at the bar, Alexander Arthur Simmons, guilty or not not guilty to the charges of desertion, physical abuse of a minor and attempted manslaughter." What seemed like an eternity to me before the foreman responded was in fact no more than a few seconds.

"Not guilty," the foreman pronounced.

A gasp went up around the court. Dr Simmons stumbled as though struck, hope blossoming across his features. At the sound of a loud cry, I turned to my right just in time to witness Alicia's mother crumple gracefully to the ground in what appeared to be a dead faint.

/

Perhaps we should not have tried to tell Frank everything so quickly. But upon Dr Simmons' acquittal, we were all released from our confidentiality contract, and keen to inform Frank of everything he had missed during his confinement.

After Frank had been knocked out by the medication and taken away, there seemed very little purpose in any of us remaining in the institution walls that morning. After we explained what had happened to the staff who were furious we had not consulted them first before telling Frank such dangerous information, they allowed us to go, along with the promise that they would explain everything to Frank when he awoke, including that fact that while his father may have been alive, we were not in fact actually aware of where he was.

And so we returned home. Life after the trial returned to normal - or as normal as you can get when one member of the family was still languishing in psychiatric institute.

To everybody's surprise, Mikey came home one day and announced that Dr Simmons had been officially released from his contract with the army without further charge, and had moved to stay with Alicia's mother. Alicia had taken this badly at first, Mikey told us, but was gradually beginning to get to know her father. She was fifteen, still young enough to potentially build a relationship. For everybody's sakes, I hoped the arrangement worked out. No matter what differences we may have, I couldn't imagine life without my father.

I saw Alicia infrequently at school now. She and Mikey spent more time together than ever, and I felt like I was intruding when I spent time with the two of them. School wasn't bad, but I didn't like it so much without Frank. Now that the year was winding down to a close and final exams were only weeks away, even the jocks didn't seem to find quite the same pleasure in tormenting us as usual. In fact, they were much more likely to simply leave us alone.

I spent my days with my art teacher, as often as I could. We weren't required to attend as many lessons now; the school apparently trusted us to study in our own time in preparation for the all-consuming examinations that were the culmination of our school life. I was grateful for the opportunity to work on my drawing. Now that I had been accepted into art college, everything seemed so much bigger and more important than before. What had previously just been my own little sketches, were suddenly something I was going to have to continue with, maybe even make my own stories around.

Art was going to be my life. Every time I thought about it, I thought my heart was going to burst, I was so happy. It felt like all my early teenage years of hiding in the dark drawing, so I didn't have to face the real world were finally explained. The years of misery had been somehow necessary, to develop my creativity to the point where an art college liked my work so much they actually wanted me.

Sometimes I found it hard to believe it myself. An art college wanted me. Me, the kid with the scars all over his arms, who nobody had ever liked or wanted. They wanted me.

After the trial I continued visiting Frank, but now there were no lies between us. He was also the only person I felt like I could really talk to about my art, and the confusion of feelings I was experiencing at the idea of going to college.

In fact Frank and I had a conversation about this one particular morning. It was three whole weeks after the trial, and Frank was due to be released in less than a week if everything went to plan. The boy sitting next to me was absolutely unrecognisable from the wreck who had entered the institution all those months ago. Frank had gained enough weight that he finally looked healthy. Even though he would always be slender, his features were no longer hollow and sunken, and his cheeks had a healthy glow.

But it was the inside that was really remarkable. Every trace of the terrified child was gone, and the funny intelligent young man I had always known was inside, had finally begun to emerge. I had caught glimpses of the person Frank should have been in the past, but now it was like he had finally managed to successfully shed his past and become the man he was supposed to be.

The tutoring Frank had been receiving meant that those who were looking after him -Lindsey, the insitution - were convinced he was now able to sit the final high school examinations alongside me, in a week or so. So in a week, he would be coming home, he would return to school with me to sit the exams, and then we could embark on the rest of our lives, whatever they might be.

/

This one particular morning, we were sitting in the same meeting room we had been in so often, and as usual I was waxing lyrical about how happy art made me. Frank just laughed at my enthusiasm, then he smiled softly at me, and told me how proud he was of me - which only made me blush. We were sitting in chairs side by side which meant we had to turn our heads to look at each other, but we didn't mind. After all, how else could we hold hands so easily?

I couldn't explain this intimacy between us. I adored him, just fucking adored him. But I couldn't dare risk this close friendship in search of something more, in case he didn't feel the same way. I spent a long time agonising over this, before finally reaching the conclusion that I would have to confront this soon. Frank was coming home in less than a week now, I decided to speak to him once we were safely back in the confines of my bedroom, where nobody could interrupt us.

Not that I knew what to say. Every time I thought about telling Frank I loved him, the memory of H would wash over me and I would be forced to confront the knowledge that I was a dangerous person to love. H had killed himself because he loved me. Frank had very nearly succeeded, in spite of me loving him. What if we entered a relationship, and then I fucked up, and Frank tried to commit suicide again. What if he succeeded, like H had. I couldn't have another persons blood on my hands...

My thoughts were leading me down a disturbing route, and Frank was looking at me curiously. To change the subject, I asked him if he had thought any further about music college, knowing the deadline for the application was coming up in the next few weeks.

I was stunned when he told me he had applied. "Lindsey made me" he chuckled after I queried this sudden change of heart.

This lightheartedness was another change which had taken place. I smiled and asked, "How on earth did she manage that? You seemed absolutely hell bent on NOT applying"

Frank shrugged. "She made it seem logical; I have nothing to lose. And what else am I going to do next year?"

This was a topic I had avoided. What would Frank do next year if he wasn't accepted? None of us had spoken about this, it had seemed too much like tempting fate to think about next year when we hadn't even been sure if Frank would survive that long. I tried to brush the moment off, and asked Frank what he had played on the guitar for his audition video to distract him.

To my surprise, the tips of Franks ears glowed red and he ducked his head shyly. "You remember that time the first day you brought me to the music shop...when we first met?" He asked quietly, seeming embarrassed.

I had to think for a moment before I remembered that afternoon; it seemed so long ago. "The first day you met Alicia? Yeah I remember" I said curiously.

"You remember we played that song, and even though we hadn't heard it, it seemed so familiar?"

"Yes...that was weird."

"And then we played it a few more time? Once with Mikey, and once when Bob and Ray visited?"

I nodded cautiously. I had a vague memory of this, the strange tune that seemed so familiar and yet was utterly unknown. "I remember" I told Frank.

Frank shrugged. "I wrote the riff into a song," he said calmly.

"Frank that's fantastic!" I said, delighted that he was beginning to stretch his musical wings. From the moment I had heard him play the guitar, to the first time he raised his hand in music class, I had known music was supposed to be his life. I was so glad he was finally starting to realise it himself.

"Can I hear it?" I asked.

Frank blushed even harder if possible. "Visiting hour is almost over," he reminded me. "Can I show you when I get back? It'll sound better on your Jackson anyway."

I grinned and acquiesced. Frank had been right though, it was time for me to leave. Before I did, I pulled him into a close embrace, pressing his warm cheek against mine.

"Five days" I said seriously, before a smile broke across my face. "Five days until you can come home Frank"

_Five days until I can tell you I love you_, I continued silently inside my head.

/

/

/

**Thank you as always for reading. Reviews (even if just to tell me everything I've done wrong here) are appreciated, and motivate me more than you can imagine. **

**_"Without you I'm a disaster...and you're my ever after..." _**

**~Hana Belladonna **


	34. The Collision Of Your Kiss

**Hi all, I'm sorry this has taken a while. I've never experienced writers block this bad - like every time I even thought about writing, I cringed in horror for weeks. My review count has dropped so much recently, I guess it didn't really feel like anyone wanted to read my writing anymore. I mean, I'm a teenager - I'm not an author, and know my writing isn't very good. But I'm trying to improve, and that's all I can do. **

**Either way, while on holiday in France I forced myself to start, and wrote a few more chapters**.

/

/

/

I could go home in five days.

The knowledge sat in my mind, spreading and settling, leaving me with a deep sense of contentment. The contentment was as always, tempered with amazement. Sometimes when I looked at how much things had changed in the last few months, I could hardly believe it myself. This time, I vowed to myself. This time I will live with them and I will not fuck up. I won't betray the trust they have placed in me.

When I heard that the Way family were accepting me back into their home after my period in the institute, I wanted to cry. Nobody had ever stuck by me for that long before. When I'd fucked up before I had been punished. But this family hadn't punished me. Instead they had stuck by me, tried to help me, and promised me I could return when I was better.

And now there were only five days left.

Five days. One hundred and twenty two hours. Seven thousand three hundred and twenty minutes. Four hundred and thirty nine thousand two hundred seconds.

Only five days of shitty meals, waking up at 3AM to the sound of screaming, not being able to sleep on the crappy mattress, having to put up with being poked and prodded all the time by the doctors. It was almost over.

In the wake of Gerard's visit, I wandered around happily grinning like an idiot. The other patients were used to it, and gave me a wide berth as I entered the central common room; nobody liked cheerful people here. They were all clustered around the television, arguing over what to watch next. As far as I could tell they were debating between another reality TV program, or a ball game. I ignored them all and walked over to my usual place on the sofa, pulling out another book. Neither ball games nor reality TV held any interest for me.

I pulled out my latest dog-eared novel, opening it to the marked page. All novels which passed through the institution had to go through a censorship program to ensure they didn't contain anything which might be triggering. This essentially left us with a lot of romances, a lot of poetry and a few fantasy novels, all of which I had been devouring steadily. There was little else to do around here if you didn't like television or card games. And so I passed my fifth-to-last day in the institution.

I felt surprisingly calm as I steadily turned the pages. My reading was slow, yes, but adequate. I managed to black out the noise of the television and the other patients, settling into the rhythm of letter after letter.

The remaining few days passed quickly. I didn't see Gerard again, but that was expected. It was the middle of the week, and he had a lot of work to do in preparing for final exams. I had a lot of work to do also. My tutors upped the ante of our work schedule, arriving early and leaving in the late afternoon, after drilling me ceaselessly on all the information I would need to know.

Music was effortless for me. Dr Simmons had taught me more on this subject than any other, and I swept all the practice examination papers I was given without blinking an eye. Metre and harmony, melody and tonality were all things which made sense to me. I could easily grasp the concept of chromaticism, and could decipher complicated rhythmic harmonies without breaking a sweat. Music, I was not concerned about.

The other subjects weren't awful exactly, although I was considerably better at some and worse at others. My only real failing was my writing skills. While I practiced, practiced and practised reading and writing, I had still only known all my letters for a few months. I wrote slowly and laboriously, and read only slightly faster. My tutors were concerned over this, and after a great deal of consultation they offered to have read-writer for me during the exams; somebody who I could dictate my answers to, who would then write them for me. I accepted the offer gratefully.

But in the whole, I wasn't overly concerned about my exams. One of the benefits of not spending much time in the regular schooling system meant I had also escaped what appeared to be traditional exam panic. If I failed these exams, I would just do something else with my life. The advantage of surviving a suicide attempt, is that once all your major problems have been solved, the smaller ones seem insignificant by comparison.

/

On the last night, I ate in the main canteen as usual. Things were quiet; we didn't receive many new patients towards the end of the week, and so it was relatively peaceful. I was more surprised than displeased when Jimmy appeared beside me. Jimmy hadn't sought me out since the first and only time he had spoken to me. I hadn't sought him out either - I admit, the idea of a friend who suffered from homicidal ideation frightened me more than a little.

"Hey Frank" Jimmy said casually, setting down his food and then plonking himself onto the bench beside me with a sense of finality that informed me he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

"Hey Jimmy" I managed in return.

"So, I hear you're leaving tomorrow," he said bluntly, without preamble.

I raised an eyebrow at him. I hadn't made my departure common knowledge. Jimmy shrugged at me. "News travels'" he said without further explanation, and began to eat. Jimmy always ate quickly, tearing at his food like a wolf. It made me feel slightly ill to watch him; he reminded me of a wild animal, wary and unpredictable.

"Anyway" he managed to spit out, around a mouthful of food. "She told me to tell you that pretty boy likes you too, only you see she's too scared to tell your herself. "

I was bewildered. "Who told you to tell me what?"

"She" Jimmy said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. I followed the line of his hand, towards a woman sitting at a table across the room. Not really a woman, more of a girl, she was petite and young, obviously frail even though she was dressed in the same sweatpants and baggy jumper as the rest of us. I recalled her vaguely from group, mostly because she never spoke. Paranoid schizophrenia.

"She told me to tell you that the pretty boy loves you too" Jimmy concluded, obviously pleased with himself for remembering the message, before returning to attacking his food.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, completely at a loss.

Jimmy sighed, as though the questions I was asking were taxing him beyind endurance.

"She knows things" He said. "She's the one they dragged out in the middle of the night the other week, because she kept screaming her roommate was dying."

"And?"

"Her roommate died two days later. Allergic reaction to some new drugs, with no warning. There was no way she could have known."

I shivered. The words sent a chill up my spine, and I looked more closely at the girl. Dark red hair, ice white skin. Nothing to mark her as different or unusual. As I stared, she looked up from her food and fixed her dark knowing eyes on me, as though she had sensed me from across the room. I ducked my head. Her gaze was not that of a child.

Jimmy was ignoring me, still eating. Returning to the subject at hand, I questioned him again. "And she said what about me, exactly?"

"That pretty boy likes you. The one that visits you and brings you pictures. He's the one."

"What do you mean?"

Jimmy's face went blank for a moment, before replying with an unusual solemnity. "She doesn't just see when people are going to die. She sees when they find their soulmate"

I burst out laughing. It was too much: Jimmys serious tone, the chilled atmosphere, the ridiculous words. Sure, I was crazy about Gerard. But soulmates? Sure.

Jimmy wasn't laughing, as he finished his food and stood up noisily. "Think what you want" he told me. "She knows."

I looked back to where the girl had been sitting. But she was gone.

\

On the morning I left, I was awake at 5am. I had packed the night before, everything was ready and my clothes were laid out by the side of the bed. Nice clothes that Donna had brought me last time she visited. Not the jumper and sweatpants we all wandered around the institution wearing. These were a pair of smooth black jeans and a simple white t-shirt. Nonedescript. Normal. Like me, now. I wondered idly if Gerard would like the way they looked on me.

After Jimmys words, I had decided it was time to tell Gerard how I felt. I was in love with him. Completely, utterly and irrevocably in love with my beautiful boy. I couldn't share a room with him for the next few months and not tell him, I wouldn't be able to bear it. And I truly believed for the first time ever, that he felt the same. Whenever I began to have my doubts, I reminded myself of the way he embraced me, held my hand, took any excuse to be close to me. He had to feel the same - he just had to.

I sounded very blasé thinking about it like that. In reality I was completely terrified, and I felt like I was going to vomit everytime I considered what I was going to do. In fact I doubted I would even manage to go ahead with it. But Lindsey had taught me that to succeed in life one had to take action. Simply letting yourself be pulled with the waves of the world was not the way to get what you wanted in life. And I knew what I wanted. Him.

I was so nervous as I waited for the institution to wake up, that I began feeling a nausea I hadn't felt for many weeks. No matter how much I tossed and turned I couldn't return to sleep, for fear of what the day was going to bring. The outside world seemed suddenly as menacing and petrifying as it had when they first dragged me out of the flat. Lindsey had warned me at our final session the previous afternoon, that I could expect it to be difficult.

"You're not an addict Frank" she told me, her big brown eyes boring into me. "But a lot of your symptoms are the same." I could have told her straight away that she was wrong - I had been 100% addicted to self harm and purging - but I didn't. She knew what she was talking about.

"When you get back out into the real world it will be hard" Lindsey had continued. "Things will go wrong. Problems will arise, and you won't be here where people will handle it for you. You will have fights, and things will mess up, and it will make you hurt so much that you want to start cutting again to take away the pain." I nodded, even though I knew she was wrong yet again. I was over that, I was a completely different person now. I would never do that again.

"When you want hurt yourself there will be no-one to stop you. You have to do it by yourself"

"I know" I told her, eager to show her I knew this all now. "I can handle it, I'm better now. Nothing will ever make me do that again." Lindsey smiled carefully, and I babbled on, trying to make her understand how much better I really was. "When I arrived, I didn't think there was anything wrong with my eating. I thought all the problems happened when people tried to make me eat - I didn't realise that was the reason everything wasn't getting better."

Lindsey was nodding, but she seemed unconvinced. "You'll still come back here every week for an appointment with me so we can discuss any problems you might have" she told me calmly. Then to my surprise, she leaned across the table and hugged me briefly. "Be careful Frank. It's a big world out there."

Like I didn't know that already.

/

By 7am I was pacing up and down my little room. As soon as the bell rang to wake everyone else up, I dashed out of the room before the last peal had finished sounding, desperate to reach the showers first. I tried to calm down as the hot water rushed over my shoulders, soothing away the knots stress had placed there and I shuddered in the warmth, washing the chill from my bones.

I stayed in the shower far longer than I should, trying pointlessly to soap away the smell of the institution. Gerard and his family were picking me up at 9am, and I was growing more and more apprehensive. Would they actually show up? Logically I knew they would, there was no way they would spend so much money on my recuperation and then throw it away. But logic wasn't coming easily.

My mood worsened as I dressed, the unfamiliar fabrics scratching my skin. By the time I ate my last breakfast in the canteen, I had convinced myself nobody was going to show up. I ate alone - even Jimmy was staying away from my sour face. Then it was time for my final weigh-in, and I had to sign a bunch of paperwork the doctors placed in front of me. Finally, finally they led me towards the entrance.

My feet squeaked down the linoleum of the entrance hall, reminding me of my first day there. Back then, I had been appalled by everything I saw. They practically had to drag me sobbing and screaming into the institution, as I kicked out at every unfamiliar hand touching me. Now I was leaving the place of my own accord, with my head held high. As I picked up my bags for the last time, I turned the corner.

And there they were.

"Frank!" Gerard cried, while I was still at the end of the hall. I stopped dead, the biggest smile spreading itself across my face as I took in the five people standing there. Donna, Donald, Mikey and Alicia.

Gerard. My beautiful, incredible, one and only love. He had come.

Gerard ran down the hallway without a second glance for his parents, and pulled me into his arms. I gasped and laughed hysterically as he lifted me up and swung me around. I felt like a little girl as I giggled and clung to him when he finally let me down. All the nervousness turned to euphoria, and the smile stretched even further across my face. Gerard eventually released me, and we turned back towards his family. Both of us realised at the same time that we were still holding hands, and a blush made its way across Gerard's face, mirrored on mine.

Gerard didn't seem inclined to let go of my hand, and so with great relief I clung to it as we walked down to his family until their arms meant I was forced to let go. Donna pulled me into a tight embrace instantly, whispering words of pride and encouragement in my ear. Donald shook my hand and even Mikey managed a smile. I looked around the small group, and felt a great warmth grow inside me until I felt my heart was going to burst out of my chest. These people had saved me, accepted me, helped me get better. These people were my family now.

Saying goodbye to the Institution staff was hard. They had seen me at my worst, and it was time to leave them. In the end, we didn't drag it out. I had already said goodbye to Lindsey the previous day, and I knew she wasn't working today. It was only the doctors, nurses andother less specific staff I had to leave. They lined up by the door like they did everytime a patient left, the nurses offering embraces and words of congratulation.

"Well done Frank."

"You did it Frank"

"Don't come back, eh?"

The last goodbye was from the sour faced nurse whose job it had been to follow me around for three months, glaring at me over my meals and invading my privacy to make sure I didn't throw up in the toilet or shower. Her tired crinkled face broke briefly from its grumpy stupor, as she winked at me, and shook my hand with a firm grasp. One by one, they wished me luck, congratulated me and shook my hand as the Way family looked on. Then they sent me on my way, back out to face the real world.

/

When we pulled up outside the Way house, I couldn't stop looking at everything. Even the pale colours seemed brighter. It was early February, and the state of New Jersey was still deep in the grasp of winter. The snow piled up around the suburban house, and cascaded in dirty piles across the sidewalk. Footprints were visible everywhere, the imprint of the people who had passed by during the morning. The rays of the sun lit up against the snow, blinding me momentarily. You couldn't see much from inside the institution - winter may as well have not existed for me. Out here in the open, it was dazzling.

Gerard insisted on carrying my bags to the house, and I let him, watching his tall figure carrying the heavy bags up the drive, his footsteps crunching on the ice. I was inexplicably reminded of the first time I had arrived here, and how he had caught me in his strong arms when I fell. I briefly considered pretending to fall again, just to feel his arms wrapping around me, holding me tightly against his chest again.

Donna had chatted to me the whole way in the car, and didn't seem inclined to stop as we walked up the driveway. This mother figure was becoming ever more prominent in my life, and I welcomed her easy warmth that I had been unable to appreciate before. "-and the staff tell me your diet has changed now Frank?" She asked. I winced. It was time to break the news about my vegetarianism.

Once inside, Donna melted quickly away from my side. I figured she was trying to give me space to settle in. I headed downstairs to Gerard's room, assuming I was still going to be staying there.

For some reason, I expected everything to be exactly the same as before. But to my surprise, it was completely different. The walls were still a deep red and covered in punk band posters, sure, and the same bunk beds rested against one wall. But now a rickety wooden easel stood propped in the corner, a half-painted canvas balanced precariously atop. Gerard's desk had been moved to sit next to the easel, and a mass of half-empty paint tubes were scattered across, leaking their oily contents onto the desk in a rainbow of hues. The stench of turpentine and oil filled the air, coming from a series of glass tumblers, who's murky contents were clearly owed to the sticky paintbrushes inside them.

It was just as messy as before. There were still clothes everywhere. But now it looked like an artists studio. I spied a pile of canvas in one corner next to a few spare frames, obviously ready to be pinned into place. Even the burns in the carpet were obscured now with smears of viridian and alizarin.

I felt, rather than heard Gerard come up behind me. His hand slipped easily onto my shoulder, and I shivered at his touch. My feelings for him were becoming had to obscure, and as he embraced me lightly in the manner we had become accustomed to, I felt the way his arms lingered on my waist and was convinced he felt the same. "Welcome back" Gerard said, a smile in his voice, eventually letting me go.

"Thank you" I said. "Everything's very...different?"

Walking into the bedroom, he dropped my bags onto the bed and chuckled at my dumbfounded expression as I took in the room. "Yeah...after I got into art college, a few things had to change" he grinned. "I've had to get a lot more serious about art. I even take lessons now." I nodded, like I understood although I didn't really. But the joy on his face as he mentioned his greatest love, was enough to make me love it for him.

I blushed profusely when I noticed a few careful drawings of people who were clearly stark naked, scattered across his desk. The top image was in dark charcoal, and depicted a muscular young man, twisting towards the artist with his arms raised, hands extended to cup the back of his head. Everything was there - his defined muscles, his shadowed jawline, his dangling penis. I gazed at it for a few moment more, taking in Gerards obvious skill and talent with the conte sticks, even a twinge of jealousy as I imagined him drawing this man. Against my will, I felt myself becoming aroused at the idea of Gerard looking at this naked man.

Sexual desire was not something I had ever really felt when my life was in constant pain and danger. But my libido had come back as my physical and mental health improved. It was an embarrassing conversation with Lindsey where she pointed out I certainly had some pipes to clean out.

I never let her raise the subject again, and conducted my own experiments in the privacy of the showers - grateful that by the third month I was allowed to shower alone.

Oblivious to my discomfort, Gerard laughed heartily as he saw where my gaze had landed. "I'm taking life classes now" he smirked. When I continued to look nonplussed, he added; "a nude model comes, and a group of us draw from him or her."

Now it was my turn to smirk. "You mean you have to look at naked women?"

Gerard grimaced. "The human body is a work of art Frank. Female bodies included."

"Ew."

"Shut up"

"You're as gay as me. You think it's gross too"

"I'm an artist. We appreciate beauty in all it's forms"

"Not when it's a naked chick"

"Woman"

"Chick"

"Model"

"Still gross"

Gerard held my gaze for another moment before bursting out laughing. "Okay maybe I prefer the males models" He conceded reluctantly.

"Don't worry. I won't tell your art school" I sniggered. Gerard mock glared at me before tossing my bag. "Go unpack if you can't appreciate art" he ordered.

His attempt at keeping a straight face was really awful.

/

Dinner was fantastic. Donna had easily taken on the news that I was vegetarian now, to my relief. She had told me that she was happy to cater for it, so long as I was willing to learn to cook vegetarian food. I more than happily acquiesced, resembling that Lindsey had told me the more contact I had with food, the easier I would begin to find it.

Between us, we had cooked up some fancy vegetarian pasta dish from scratch - rolling out the fresh pasta and cutting it carefully into strips before lowering it into the boiling water. I watched in fascination as she made the sauce from freshly chopped tomatoes, garlic and herbs. She even let me help a little with the cutting part, although the ever-present Gerard rolled his eyes and I noticed they were all a little wary about letting me handle knives.

This made me a little sad, but it was understandable. My scars had faded, but they would never heal. A constant reminder of the time in my life when I believed knives were made for cutting skin and flesh, not vegetables.

Alicia joined us for dinner, and the conversation flowed easily as Donna proudly announced I had helped make it. Even when we discussed Dr Simmons, I didn't find it difficult. In fact when Alicia informed me he wanted to speak to me again, I was nothing but happy. The man had walked into my life at its darkest point, and brought light. How could I not want to see him again?

We didn't talk about my father being alive. The memory of my reaction was still fresh in everybody's mind, and I didn't blame them for avoiding the subject. I knew we had plenty of time in the future to talk about where he was, how he was alive, and whether or not I would ever meet him. We had time.

I found myself pleased by my own ability to interact with people.

/

After the meal, Gerard and I headed downstairs. This was the only part of the evening I had been dreading, and a slight headache had started behind my eyes, pounding a painful distraction.

I had steeled myself for what I was going to do. I was in love with Gerard. I could admit it so openly now. I loved him, adored him, worshipped everything about his beautiful mind and body. These feelings had been building for so many months, and it was finally time to get it out into the open. Then we could begin our relationship together. Just the thought made me shiver. What would he taste like? What would his kiss be like? What words could we whisper under darkness now we shared a room again?

The only thing was, I didn't know exactly how I planned to tell him. I decided in the end, to go with instinct.

As we entered his room, Gerard immediately sprawled out on his bed with an an appreciative groan. "Good meal Frank" he complimented, and I blushed again. I was like a fucking fire engine with all the sades of red I was turning today. Nervously I looked around, trying to keep myself distracted. I tidied a few of my fantasy novels that had fallen across his desk, then lined up several pens. Finally I couldn't occupy my hands anymore, and I turned to face him.

"Gerard." I was impressed that my voice barely shook. Adrenaline was building as my heart rate increased, and I felt slightly sick with nerves.

"Hmmm?"

"Can I talk to you?"

"You already are." Gerard pointed out, pulling himself into a sitting position. Seeing that I wasn't finding his joke amusing enough, he shrugged and nodded, gesturing at the space next to him on the bed. The bed.

"What's up?" He asked me.

Shakily, I crossed the room and sat next to him. As had become our habit, our hands immediately sought each other out. More than anything, his warm dry grasp around my fingers calmed me. "What did you want to talk about?" He asked again, when it became apparent I couldn't speak.

"This" I muttered softly, gesturing at our joined hands.

"What?" Gerard said, looking confused.

I took in his face for one long moment. His cat-like features, feline and graceful. His dark eyes, high cheekbones and delicate pouty pink lips. His long strands of dyed black hair, framing his elegant jawline. He was exquisite. I didn't care what fancy theories he came up with about art. His face was a work of art.

Gerard still looked bewildered, as I studied him. I knew what I needed to do.

I took a deep breath. And then I kissed him.

/

/

/

**There will be three more chapters, then the epilogue and then an outtake. Next chapter up next Friday. Please let me know how you're feeling about the story - reviews get me out of bed in the morning. **

**"It took eight years just to realise/No-one looks when you say goodbye" **

**~Hana Belladonna**


	35. Walk Away A Saviour

**I have failed! Ever since I started this story I've been trying to finish it by August 2013 and now it looks like I'm going to be heading into September. Which isn't bad for a two year guess in advance, but I'm taking it very personally.**

**This chapter contains a serious smut warning. No really. If you object to sodomy, please don't read it. As a lesbian it wasn't entirely enjoyable to write it...**  
><strong>...oh and please don't hate me too much by the end.<strong>

/

/

**GPOV**

_And the collision of your kiss, that made it so hard..._

I didn't know this was going to happen.

I had been theorising about telling Frank the truth about my feelings for weeks, but suddenly I felt as though the rug had been pulled out from under my feet. I hadn't needed to tell Frank anything - he already knew more from one look than anything I could tell him in any amount of words.

He had just...just kissed me.

Frank's lips were soft and dry. I could even feel the chapped places from where he chewed on them when he was nervous. As his lips pressed against mine, they were initially delicate and cautious, tentative pressure. He pulled back, uncertain. But when I instinctively slid my arm to wrap around his warm waist and pull him closer, he gasped and suddenly forcefully moulded his mouth to mine. Heat seared through me as I kissed him back, my head spinning at a thousand miles an hour. I wanted to pull away, to stop and ask what we were doing but I couldn't bring myself to. Were we ready for this kind of relationsuiP? I couldn't form enough coherent thought to answer my own question.

I moaned involuntarily as I felt his lips part slightly, questioningly. I welcomed the intrusion even as my saner self protested, and the pressure increased as his tongue met mine, hot and limpid. Frank clutched me ever tighter as our mouths remained tightly sealed, his slim hands sliding across my back and shoulders with increasing urgency. I could feel the blood begin to pool in my groin, causing slight discomfort against the sharp ridge of my jeans. As one of Frank's roaming hands slid over my chest and stomach, I shuddered lightly as it finally came to rest gently atop the hard bulge in my trousers. Then as he gently slid his fingers over my length, I gasped sharply and bit down on his lip, causing him to crush himself against me.

Frank pulled back slightly, his dark eyes meeting mine searchingly. I knew he was looking for words I wasn't sure how to say, and so I ducked my head, instead kissing a path down his jawline, placing a kiss on the delicate skin beneath his throat, before using my teeth to gently mark him. Frank moaned harder, and pressed his hand more firmly against my fabric covered cock, causing me to buck my hips up towards his hand.

I think it was then that I realised this might actually happen tonight. We were both eighteen, and even though we might have been virgins, we were also adults. We knew what we wanted.

To fuck.

Stilling Franks hand momentarily, I pulled away to catch his eye. His breathing was ragged even as he looked up at me through his lashes, and smirked. "Frank..." I moaned as he made to touch me again. With great difficulty, I stopped him.

"Do you want to...?" I couldn't quite say the words, and I blushed.

"Fuck?" Frank asked, quirking an eyebrow as he filled in the gaps for me. Blushing even harder, I nodded, praying he would say yes. Wondering where all his confidence was coming from.

"Hell yes" he exclaimed, and then pressed his mouth firmly to mine again. "Wait" I groaned. Much as I hated to interrupt kissing Frank, one sure way to spoil the evening would be my mother, father or brother walking in on us. Briefly detangling myself from Frank I crossed the room and quickly slid the latch across the door, effectively locking it. Then I turned on the stereo, to mask the noise.

I was nothing if not thorough.

Turning back to the bed, I saw Frank lying there, his arm lazily outstretched over his head, the large bulge in his jeans obviously he seemed entirely at ease - confident, and cocksure. I had never seen him like this and I wasn't sure if it was the fact that we were about to have sex, or the months in the institution that had brought about this change. Frank had been sexually abused - yet he was confident about what he wanted. If he wasn't going to let himself hold onto his past, I wasn't going to make him.

Crossing the room towards him, I paused momentarily as he eyed me with what could only be described as speculation. Then I leaned forwards, and pressed my lips against his again.

It was immediate, the flames that had flickered through me when he was near fucking roared as soon as his lips met mine. Instantly, my hands were in his hair, satisfying their curiosity of its texture as the soft strands slid through my fingers. Vaguely, as his tongued entered my mouth, I felt his hands pushing my shirt off my shoulders. Moaning into the kiss, I pulled him closer, trying to get more of him.  
>Trying to get anything.<p>

Our tongues furiously swirled around each other, and I felt his body begin to tremble with anticipation. As I released his hair, I realized he wasn't the only one shaking.

There was no slow seduction with Frank. After all, we were teenage virgins and we were desperate. Instead, we gripped shirts, unbuttoned pants, pulled and tugged and practically tore the clothes off each other, letting them pile up in a mess of skinny jeans and black shirts on the floor. Our lips only left each other when we were forced to part to remove another piece of clothing.

I had never had the need to completely devour someone as I did him at that moment. We had barely spoken, were already completely naked, and I was guiding him back to the bed with my hands on his hips. Pushing him down, I watched as he fell back onto the bed, his cock slapping against his stomach with the movement. He looked up at me, licking his lips as he reached out to pull me on top of him. Not resisting, in fact there was nothing I wanted fucking more than to feel his naked body completely against mine as he moved beneath me. I fell on top of him, my lips finding his instantly.

The inferno only grew hotter as our cocks touched for the first time, rolling my hips, I rubbed my slickening cock against his and couldn't help the long moan that escaped me. I had never been so hard in my life, no kind of masturbating to porn could compare to the ache I felt with Frank. Not wanting to embarrass myself by coming too soon, I left his lips and worked my way down his jaw and neck, exploring every inch, relishing in the feeling of his abrasive scruff against my lips. Shifting my weight off him, I nibbled my way to his collarbone, keeping a hand in his hair while the other constantly investigated his body, categorizing each and every reaction I got from him.

The way he moaned when my fingers brushed over his hipbone and up the inside of his thigh.

The way his hand clenched when I bit the soft skin of his neck.

The way he said 'fuck' when my rubbed my cock against him.

He writhed below me, raking his nails down my back, and he arched up as my teeth grazed his nipple, his hands weaving almost painfully tightly into my hair. I knew he was having just as difficult time a not coming as I was.

"That's it, baby…let me make you feel good," I muttered, releasing my grip on his hair and kissing my way down his stomach, stopping to circle his navel with my tongue, his skin pebbling with goose bumps. Proud of myself when I felt his stomach muscles ripple under my touch, I smiled.

He was as fit as I had always known he could be, given a few months of good food and exercise.

Nuzzling his cock with my nose, I inhaled his musky scent with curiosity as he cried out. He tried to move, seeking more of my touch, but my hands on his hips held him firm. Frustrated, he murmured a few obscenities. I felt my own cock pulse but denied the urge to reach down and touch myself. Instead, I knelt between his legs, running my hands up and down his thighs.

"Just one second, baby," I said, the name falling easily from my lips. I thanked god for the sexual health classes which had sent me to to buy condoms and lube long before I had ever met Frank. If there was ever an opportunity I was going to get fucked, I had wanted to be ready. I reached over his body and grabbed the required equipment from a hidden corner of the draw in my desk. my position, I reached down and began stroking his cock, watching his face as it contorted with pleasure. "How do you want me?" I figured it was best to ask. After the abuse he had suffered, I had no idea if he would have difficulty with the idea of being penetrated.

Breathlessly, he replied, "I would prefer you inside me if you don't mind."

My night had gotten impossibly better. Not only was I in the same room, fucking naked with the most gorgeous boy I had ever seen, but he wanted me to fuck him.

Perhaps there was a God.

Grinning widely, I let go of him and placed my hands on either side of his shoulders, leaned over and nipped the corner of his jaw. "Mmm that can definitely be arranged. Now since that's out of the way," I paused, sliding my body down his until his cock was just inches from my mouth. " I have more time to focus on his beautiful instrument here." Learning forward, I placed a firm kiss on the tip of his cock.

Fuck, he even tasted good. None of my fantasies could have prepared me for this.

"Fuck," he moaned, and I could tell he was already on the edge, his senses on overload much like mine were.

"Let's see where you're most sensitive," I murmured before seizing his cock in my hand and looking at him through my lashes. Giving him one long lick from the base to the tip with the flat of my tongue, I felt his cock twitch in my grasp. "Oh, we can do better than that," I smirked, swirling my tongue around the head before using the tip to nudge the ridge on the underside of his shaft. A low moan formed in the back of his throat and I felt his toes curl against my legs as he resisted the urge to grab my head and force himself into my mouth. "Hmm, I'm getting warmer…."

As soon as the words had left me, I pointed my tongue and dipped it into his slit, flicking it back and forth quickly.

"Oh, God," he gasped, his hips undulating involuntarily.

Apparently, he had found God as well.

"There we go," I smiled, satisfied. I pulled back and swear he whined. "Just relax," I promised as I hovered over him, bracing one elbow against the bed while the other pinched his nipple and I kissed his neck gently. Moving my hand from his chest, I reached next to me and popped the lube open. As I placed soft kisses down his throat, I drizzled a few drops of lube over his balls, imitating what I had seen in porn videos, hoping it was what I was supposed to do. His hips bucked up, and I chuckled. Putting the bottle back down, I let my fingers gather the lube before moving to the smooth skin below his sac, circling his entrance before I pushed forward, slowing inching inside. When I felt his muscles constrict, I knew he was close.

On the outside, I was calm and collected, taking the lead so that Frank didn't have to. Trying to act like I knew what I was doing. The inside, however, was an entirely different story. Along with my throbbing cock, my heart raced in my chest so fast I thought I was having an anxiety attack. It wasn't just gentle flutters, but a pounding that literally made it feel like it was going to burst from my chest. Attempts to calm myself were of no use, my muscles were tense and I felt like I had had about forty cups of coffee. In the dark of the room, he couldn't see the struggle in my eyes as I tried to keep myself under control.

I wondered if he could feel the affect he was having on me. I wondered if he felt the constant quivers traveling through me.

While I continued to ready him, I made my way down his chest. I desperately wanted to kiss him again, but knew as soon as I felt his tongue with mine, he would wearing my cum. Instead, I teased his nipples with my teeth as I added a second finger to the first.

"Gerard...Gerard...Gerard…" he repeated over and over as I worshipped his body. Licking the defined lines of chest and stomach, I stopped at his hipbone. I felt the tension in his body, the coil wound so tightly it was ready to spring. Fucking him with my fingers, I finally took his cock into my mouth, taking in his entire length a few times before quickly releasing him, grabbing him with my hand and sticking my tongue in his slit again.

When I felt his cock jerk forcefully, I took him into my mouth again and felt his hands in my hair. Holding my head still, I let him fuck my mouth, his hips lurching up off the bed over and over again until the head tapped the back of my throat and the first spurt of his cum erupted and dribbled down my throat. Fisting my hair, he arched up and cried out as ecstasy washed over him and wave after wave of hot fluid shot into my mouth. Continuing to swallow around him, prolonging his pleasure, his body became tight, his muscles trembling with repeated aftershocks. Finally sated, he fell back and I released his softening cock from my mouth and kissed my way back up his stomach, licking the salty sheen of sweat that had gathered on his pale skin.

"Oh my God," he mumbled, his breath coming in short, rough pants. Lifting his shoulders and head off the bed, he pulled my lips to his, searching for his taste.

"It's about to get a lot better," I promised with a wink. "Can you handle it?"

"Bring it on," he chuckled. Rising to my knees again, I grabbed a condom and tore it open. Sliding it down my shaft, I felt uncomfortable under the intensity of his stare.

No matter how controlled I acted, I had never done this before and I was terrified I would fail, or hurt him in some way. The pit in my stomach grew as he stared at me with expectation I feared I wouldn't live up to. Never had I seen myself so desired in someone's eyes, and the feeling consumed me.

Nervously, I stroked myself, and then I held my finger out to him. Watching me under his lashes, he sucked it into his mouth, lavishing it with his tongue before I pulled it out and immediately entered his ass with it. While his body was still relaxed from his orgasm, I pulled my finger out and positioned my cock at his entrance, moaning as his body tightly welcomed me inch by inch. Going much slower than my body screamed for, I gripped his knees, keeping his legs wide for me as I watched myself enter him.

I had never seen anything so fucking erotic in my life.

His muscles stretched to accommodate me, contracting around me so tightly I felt the pulse in my cock. One of his hands rested on my forearm, his nails digging into my flesh while his other hand ran up and down his chest and stomach.

"Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth. With half of my cock in the embrace of his ass,

I stopped, unsure if I was hurting him. I ached to push forward and shove myself deep inside him. "Please, don't stop," he begged, gripping my arm so tight his knuckles began to turn white. Sighing in relief, I allowed my hips to slowly move forward until I was fully seated in him.

Looking down, I saw myself completely sheathed by him and I swear to god, I had never felt as fucking amazing as I did right then. When I heard him moan, I forced my eyes up to his and saw him watching us too. Instinctively, I began to slowly pull almost all the way out, only to push back in. He looked up at me, and our eyes met.

Watching him as I began rhythmically thrusting and in out of his velvet warmth, I felt my heart skip a beat at the vulnerability I suddenly felt. I had been scared before, I had been threatened before, but nothing frightened me as much as being so exposed as I felt when he looked at me. It was as if he was reading my internal thoughts, as if he knew every worry and fear I had had ever had, things that had remained buried and protected for so long were suddenly being uncovered by his hazel eyes.

"Frankie," I heard myself whisper. It was the first time I had spoken his pet name since he had returned, and I was shocked at the ease with which it fell from my lips while I was in his arms, as if I had called it out every night for a thousand nights. When he heard his name, something flickered in his eyes, something knowing, something that told me he felt it too.

Each time I rocked my hips, a look of bliss crossed his face as I hit a spot deep inside him. Reaching down, I wrapped my fingers around his cock and stroked him a few times. Feeling him grow harder with each pump of my hand, I stilled my pelvis and concentrated on stroking him. He lifted his ass off the bed to fuck my hand, precum seeped from his slit, and I slickened his cock with it. Resuming my thrusts, I timed them with my strokes, concentrating on how good he felt in my hand instead of how good my cock felt inside him.

"Fuck me, Gerard," he groaned, and it was my undoing. I felt the burn begin in my balls, and they tightened as the fire spread through my abdomen. "Harder, fuck me harder."

I held his hip with one hand and slammed forcefully into him just as he had asked, hoping to hold off for a few more thrusts.

"Is that what you want?" I asked, my breath coming out in large gasps.

"I want you," he replied simply.

He wanted me.

My head lolled back as I came, cum jettisoning from me in quick bursts as my orgasm exploded through my body with a force I had never experienced before. Every muscle shuddered and visibly shook as the euphoric waves ebbed over me. Wrapping his legs around my waist, he restricted my movements, keeping me deep in him as I rode out the last ripples of rapture. When I opened my clenched eyes, I felt his hips bucking up; I had forgotten I was still holding his cock in my hand.

"You want to come again, Frankie?"

Biting down on his lip so hard I thought it might bleed, he nodded. His hands on my thighs, I continued to stroke him, pumping his cock at a furious pace as I watched him wantonly chase his second orgasm. When he started to moan, and I saw the muscles of his stomach tighten, I reached for his hand that was on my leg. Taking it, I entwined my fingers with his, holding tightly as he called out my name and came again. His creamy fluid flowed warm and thick from his cock and down over my hand. The spasms of his ass contracted around my softening cock, milking every last drop from me.

Watching myself enter his ass had been erotic. Watching him cum while I was still inside him was surreal, the feelings it evoked, not only physically, but emotionally.

I had reached for his hand and held it as he came.

I had never held someone's hand like this before, not during such an intimate moment. However, nothing had ever felt more natural.

He lay back on the bed, his eyes closed, his chest heaving, his cock dripping the last of his sweet cum onto his curls as he sighed with contentment.

His hand still in mine.

Motionless, I waited, not wanting to lose the connection I felt. As much as it scared me, it thrilled me. I felt drained, weak, and oddly energetic at the same time. Afraid to move, I remained in him, his thumb rubbing my hand as he slowly opened his eyes and smiled up at me.

"Wow" Frank whispered softly. I concurred.

Not wanting to let him go, I pulled him closer against me, snuggling into his side. His hands traced patterns over my face, delicately outlining my features and I shivered at his easy familiarity. "What does this mean Gerard?" he asked me quietly.

"I don't know" I answered honestly, gazing up at him, still bathing in the afterglow.

Right then I didn't care. I was going to say more, but suddenly Frank tilted his head back and gave the hugest yawn I had ever seen, and rubbed at his eyes like a kitten. It was the cutest thing I had ever seen, and I giggled at him. "Are you tired baby?" I teased.

"You have no idea" he groaned. "I've been awake since fucking five am"

"Sleep?"

"Yeah...maybe" he conceded reluctantly.

Leaning across him, I reached for the light switch and flicked it off. I knew my mom would find it weird that the door was still locked, but there was no way I was sending Frank to sleep in a separate bunk. I wanted to feel his smooth body against mine as we slept, in a way I had never experienced before.

The bunk was too small and it was slightly awkward as we struggled to fit onto it, but eventually we arranged our limbs suitably into a semblance of comfort. I found myself relieved that Frank had put on some weight, as it made his elbows that much less sharp and bony and his hipbone that much less likely to jab me. Wrapping my arms loosely around his body, I smiled into his shoulder.

His warm back pressed against my chest, and I stroked his hair, before letting my hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"Gee?"

"Yeah?"

"Sweet dreams" he said softly. I could hear the exhaustion in his voice, mixed with something else I couldn't decipher.

"Sweet dreams Frankie" I murmured.

/

_The sunlight was bright in the little room, piercing the slats of the wooden blinds over the window._

_It wasn't my room. I knew that much. The tall well-stacked bookshelves, signed band posters and dismantled drum kit in the corner didn't belong to me. The double bed I was sitting on with the navy blue bedspread wasn't mine either. I recognised it all though - this was a place I had visited many time before. I had even slept in this bed on more than one occasion._

_I didn't know where this certainty came from. But as I looked around, I already knew that most of the clothes lying around would fit me reasonably well, but be a little baggy. I recognised the scent on the pillows, and I knew that the adjoining white door on the left led to a little bathroom, whilst the wooden door directly opposite me led to a set of stairs. I didn't know how I knew it, I just knew._

_I looked around, taking in the chaos. Tables and drawers were filled to overflowing with clothes, books and artefacts. This room was well lived in. There were bright pastel coloured awards on the walls, the kind that children recieve for succeeding in some venture, or placing top of a class. The certificates on the walls spanned over a decade, suggesting it was a teenage boys bedroom. But it wasn't me that lived here. I leaned closer to the framed certificates, to read the name. The occupant of this room was a certain H Palmer._

_H. I was in H's room._

_What was I doing here? I should have been in bed with Frank, why was I here? As I mused this, I noticed that nothing I had been staring at seemed certain. A pile of clothes I could have sworn were previously in the corner on the left were now hanging from the ceiling. The light had turned an eerie shade of red. Everything was transitory, nothing was still._

_I muttered to myself, the words springing from my lips without conscious thought. "If I had a world of my own...everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't."_

_I heard the creaking on the stairs, and I flinched. A sense of dread was rising in me, that this peaceful room was about to be shattered._

_"And contrary wise. What it would, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"_

_The wooden door opened. Slowly. With great emphasis. It was him._

_H stood in the doorway, silently. In the three years since I had last seen him, he hadn't changed. He was still fifteen, and as I looked down at myself taking in my smaller muscles and height, I realised I must be fifteen again too. His sandy hair tossed casually across his eyes the way it always had as he winked at me, and he slouched lightly against the doorframe._

_"What's up Gee?" He asked, moving into the room. We could have been old friends meeting anywhere from the casual tone he used. Something in my head was telling me there was something I was supposed to remember about H - some reason why he and I shouldn't be in this room under any circumstances. But I couldn't remember what that reason might be._

_"Hey H" I said half heartedly. At my greeting, his face lit up with the dazzling smile I remembered, and his sudden happiness was so complete I couldn't help but return it. Moving further into the room, he reached out and grasped my hand, using it as leverage to pull me from the bed. Once I was standing, he wrapped his arms around me. I could feel him still smiling into my neck._

_"I missed you" he told me._

_"I haven't been anywhere." I was confused. Had I been anywhere? Had I ever been anywhere except this room?_

_"You left me" H informed me. "But it's okay! You're here now. You're here to stay now."_

_Before I could do anything, he bent his head and kissed me, pressing his lips firmly against mine. He tasted of beer and regret, just the way I had remembered his kisses. Remembered? Had I kissed him before?_

_My head was spinning as he pushed his mouth onto mine more forcefully, pressing his body against mine. This was wrong - so wrong. Why was he doing this? We had been apart for so long, and he tasted nothing like Frank._

_So long. Frank._

_Oh my god._

_I didn't realise I had said the words out loud until H pulled away, frowning now. He looked sulky. "What's wrong baby?" He asked, keeping his face close to mine._

_"No...no...we can't do this" I said, struggling to escape his grip. "You're not real. You're dead..."_

_H's face twisted suddenly, becoming a rictus of fury as his eyes darkened with rage. "DEAD?!" He howled, gripping my shoulders so tightly I thought the bones were going to crack. I started to cry. I couldn't help myself, even though I knew it was pathetic. This was my best friend. Why was he doing this to me?_

_"Dead?" H asked more calmly. "Do I look dead to you?"_

_He didn't look dead. His pale freckled skin was flushed with life, and he was solid and warm under my hands. But I had watched as they lowered his coffin into the fucking grave. He was dead. Fear overcame me, and I tore myself violently away from his grip, feeling the fabric of my shirt rip under his hands._

_"Leave" I begged him, sobbing in earnest now. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry"_

_I covered my eyes so I couldn't see him, and childishly wished it would just all go away._

_"You killed me Gery"_

_His voice was calm, but the words were deadly sincere. He was right, I had killed him._

_"I'm sorry."_

_"I was fifteen. You just couldn't love me, could you? Couldn't let us have a life together? We would have been good together Gery"_

_"I'm sorry"_

_"Did you watch my mother cry?" He hissed, prising my hands away from my face, making me look at him again. Watch his eyes as he enunciated every word clearly. "Did you know she blames you too? You didn't have to be such a fucking bastard when you told me you would never love me."_

_He was right._

_"Everything you love dies..." He whispered to me._

_Suddenly he was gone from in front of me. Wondering where he was, I turned and looked in vain. And then I screamed._

_His pale body was hanging from the ceiling above my head. Lifeless, limp and white. The stench from where his bodily fluids had released filled the room, and as I caught a glimpse of his face I choked in horror at the thick potruding tongue; the blue lips. The bruises spreading across his throat, and the thick rough rope knotted around his neck._

_"No..." I moaned._

_He twitched. I flinched, and backed away from him onto the bed, trying to get away from the jerking corpse hanging on the end of the rope. All the remained of my best friend._

_As I scrambled further backwards, I realised there didn't seem to be any end to the bed, and I twisted around to see where the wall was. Just in time to see the abyss open up as I tumbled into the darkness._

/

I woke up with a jerk.

Somehow Frank and I had swapped positions in the night, and I was lying at the very edge of the bed, my arm trailing over the floor. I was cold, so cold I was almost shaking. There was no heating in my bedroom, and I was naked without blankets in the middle of winter.

Frank was lying flush against the wall, wrapped tightly in my blankets. His sleeping face was peaceful, his chest falling and rising with each deep slow breath. He looked utterly relaxed, lost in whatever dreams he was having. I started to cry quietly as I watch him. The hot tears were coming from nowhere, but they flooded painfully down my cheeks as I looked at the beautiful boy lying in my bed.

_Everything I love dies..._

I don't know how long I watched Frank. It was the middle of the night, but I knew I wouldn't sleep again. My mind was racing, coming up with thousands of thoughts, theories and scenarios. Frank would want to be in a relationship with me if I stayed. He had given me his virginity. He loved me. There was no way we could pretend last night had never happened.

I remembered how selfish I had been when Frank arrived. How I had denied him help because I wanted to be the one that fixed him. Frank had tried to kill himself too, and he had very nearly succeeded. Because I hadn't told anyone how bad things were. Another person I loved had nearly died because of me.

_Everything I touch turns to stone..._

I would ruin Frank. I would be the death of him. What could I possibly offer him if I stayed? I would destroy him, because that was what I did. My thoughts were barely coherent, but I knew what I needed to do.

Silently I slipped from the bed, taking care not to wake Frank. He murmured lightly in his sleep as I shifted the sheets, and I froze. I knew that if he woke up right then, I would never be able to let myself leave. I loved him too fucking much, more than I could ever describe. Just one word from him, and I would be here forever.

Frank mumbled a few more times, and I waited with bated breath. But after a snuffle, he caught my pillow under his arm, and turned further towards the wall. A light snore escaped his throat. I felt my own throat constrict with tears. He hadn't woken.

I packed a bag quickly. Only the essentials - a change of underwear, wallet, my sketchbook and pencils. Dressing in the dark, I pulled on the first clothes that came to hand, and then shrugged on a leather jacket. A glance at the clock confirmed it was 4am. It was going to be absolutely fucking freezing outside. Stuffing my feet into shoes, I turned to the door, and then I paused. I considered leaving a note on the pillow. How cliche was I going to get? But in the end I couldn't bring myself to. What could I say to him? An apology could never suffice, and a sheet of paper wasn't enough for the thousands of words I needed to tell him.

I should have told him about H months ago. But I never had.

I looked back at Frank one last time, the tears blurring my vision. He lay straight, in the bed. I could make out the delicate lines of his limbs under the blankets, and the outline of his arm where it wrapped around the pillow. From his position turned away from my view, I could only see the pale curve of his cheek, and the dark strands of hair that rested softly, fanning over the pillow.

He had never looked more beautiful to me than in that moment.

After one long last look, I turned back towards the door. And then I walked away from my dark eyed lover, ripping my own heart out in the process.

/

/

/

**Please trust that this was a necessary plot twist and don't send me threatening reviews claiming you know where I live and intend to arrive with a shotgun.**

**Two chapters left! And one of them is already written. I'm so excited wow, I've never finished a story before.**

**On another note, thank you so much to anyone who reviewed the last chapter. It really lifted me out of my writing funk and kicked my ass into gear enough to write a ton. Thank you!**

**_"Sometimes goodbye is a second chance..."_**

**~Hana Belladonna**


	36. Lost My Fear Of Falling

**Before you read this chapter: **

**- Return to chapter one. **

**-Read the prologue (if like me, you haven't read the first chapter in about a year now) **

**-Return to this chapter and continue as normal. **

/

/

/

GPOV

I had been right: it was absolutely fucking freezing outside. Winter held the state in its cruel, unforgiving grip, and my breath puffed out before me in deep clouds.

The snow was piled up everywhere, and in the 4am darkness the stacks of ice gleamed luminously. I looked left and right down the street, but to my surprise there was nobody to be seen. Even out in the suburbs like I was, this was still New Jersey and there was almost always somebody around no matter what time of day or not.

But not tonight.

It was so still, so silent and utterly beautiful. The phrase as quiet as the grave sprung to my mind, and I shivered. The house behind me was dark and imposing, the windows reflected the silvery snow as the orange streetlights lit up this landscape with an eerie glow. Nobody had stirred as I made my silent way through the house, even though I almost wished they would awake and stop me. Nobody was here to stop me.

Decisively, I turned to the right and began my slow walk down the street, wincing as my boots crunched loudly through the snow and ice. I pulled my leather coat tighter around me, and wished I had thought to bring a hat and scarf.

I didn't encounter a single soul on my walk to the station. It took me half an hour, but it felt like a lifetime.

I wasn't as composed as I might have wished to be - I couldn't stop crying softly until my tears froze in tracks down my face and my lashes became caught up with ice. I couldn't believe I was just walking away like this. Was this what love felt like? I had always been sceptical of the term 'heartbroken'. But right now the heavy organ in my chest throbbed and ached as I walked until I pressed one hand to still it, certain I must be having some kind of seizure. It felt like my heart was being literally torn right out of my chest.

As the garish lights ahead of me came into view, I picked up speed, as if by walking faster I could walk away from the memory of what I had just done.

The first train to New York left in half an hour, at five AM. I tried not to think too hard as I paid for the ticket, ignoring the concerned looks I recieved from the elderly stationmaster - the only person on duty at this time in the morning. "Thank you" I said automatically as I took the ticket he proffered.

"Sir are you-"

"I'm fine."

/

The train was worse. At least it was warm and bright in the cramped little carriages. But as I rested my head against the window and gazed out at the darkness, the treacherous tears returned.

I was sitting surrounded by business men - pinstriped suits, coffee in hand and laptops on their fold out trays as they began their day of work hours before the rest of the country woke up. This time yesterday I would have wanted to sketch them, perhaps create a painting based around the hopeless degenerate rat race they embodied - societies version of the worker ants. Why were they always animal metaphors? I didn't care. I didn't want to draw anything.

I honestly didn't know where I was going. New York was where I had lived for the first fourteen years of my life, until the incident. In some perverse way, it still represented home to me. It was where Bob and Ray lived, it was where H, Mikey and I had grown up. I knew every filthy, dirty corner of it.

I had been accepted at their art school. New York was my past, present and future.

I didn't let myself think too much about the art school. Our exams started in three days - if I didn't pass, the NY school of art offer would disappear. I had to return in time for the exams, but I couldn't go back to the house. I couldn't see Frank again. I didn't let myself continue down that train of thought either - three days was too far in the future. Right now I was having trouble making it through the next five minutes.

When the train pulled up at the huge metropolitan New York station, I exited as though I was still walking in a dream world. I had been here hundreds of times before, but everything looked strange and alien. The tears had finally ceased, allowing me rub the crusties from my eyes, and try to make myself think.

/

I went to a coffee shop in the station. I bought a black coffee.

I drank it slowly. It was 9AM now. My family would be wondering where I was; maybe I should have left a note on the pillow after all.

I washed my face in the restroom.

I didn't recognise myself in the mirror. My skin was greyish white, and my cheeks looked sunken, the tracks made by the salty tears still showing up pink and inflamed. There were deep circles underneath each eye, purple like smudged bruises. I looked like Frank had, in his worst moments.

The irony amused me. Then it upset me greatly, and I cried.

I went for a walk, barely remembering to pay for the coffee.

I walked for hours. And hours. I wandered in circles, through the chilly grey streets that lightened to white as the sun came up. There wasn't as much snow here - it has all been trodden down by the plethora of feet that had stamped it mercilessly into the cracks in the concrete. Where was I going? I didn't know.

Eventually I found myself somewhere that was familiar to me. The towering jungle of the city receded slightly, and suburbia began to take its place again. The houses here were tall; imposing and impressive. Everywhere I looked I saw modernity - planes of flat, minimalist concrete; huge glass windows; iron gates. The entire street gave me the chills - it was silent at this time, all it's occupants having already gone to work.

Finally I identified it in my mind. It was the richer side to the area my family had used to live in. The majority of New Yorks wealthy population lived either in inner-city luxury flats close to their jobs, or in pretentious gated communities where they could hide away from the rest of the world and pretend they were the only ones. All except those who had big families and wanted big spaces and gardens...because they came here.

Which meant our old house was just around the corner, in the seedier side.

I wasn't surprised that my feet had led me here. How could I have expected anything less?

I quickened my pace, suddenly eager to see the house again. I wasn't quite sure why, but I felt like I needed to go there. Crunching through the snow that was beginning to turn to slush under the wintery sun, I shivered again. My leather jacket hadnt kept the cold off me enough, and I was already chilled to the bone. My nose was running, my head spinning and I felt weak and shaky. But I forced myself on.

Somehow it just felt like I would understand things better if I could see the place again. Remind myself that I had survived seventeen years in a world without Frank. As I turned the corner, I stumbled slightly over the uneven kerb, and my head span with the sudden dizziness. I pushed myself on determinedly, ignoring the pain. And finally, finally.

There it was. My old house.

Five years had changed a lot of things. The white picketed fence that had bordered the neat front lawn was gone; instead there was only yellowing grass, dead and bare under the weight of the fallen snow. The two story building was ageing, the wood and bricks showing signs of decay and disuse. The people who lived here now were clearly not the house proud owners my parents had once been. Even the tree in the centre of the yard was overgrown, it's long bare branches reaching dangerous into the road.

It was just...a house. I was almost disappointed. There were no ghosts for me to chase here, nothing more than an empty suburb on a freezing morning. I shivered, the icy wind biting right through my coat and into me. I couldn't feel my hands or feet, and even my lips and cheeks were numb. I tasted metallic tangy blood as I bit through my lip, but I didn't even feel the pain.

I was growing dizzy, as I looked back at the house I had once known, as though hoping it would provide the answers I sought so desperately. Pressing my hand against my face, I leaned into my palm and closed my eyes, wishing everything would just go away for a moment so I could think, and understand what to do next.

Closing my eyes turned out to be a bad idea though. Everything suddenly spun painfully, a sharp spike shot through my temple and I staggered, almost losing my balance as the world began to go black around the edges. I was determined not to faint and I clung desperately to the vision I still had, until my sight began to clear.

"Are you alright?"

The unexpected voice came from behind me, closer than I realised. I hadn't noticed anybody coming up to me. The tone was concerned, and so I turned around wearily to thank the passer by for their concern and inform them that I was just fine thank you very much.

The person I saw when i turned around nearly made me pass out again. I wasn't expecting Julia. Not her, not here, not now.

Not H's mother.

/

Five years had changed Julia too.

It was a miracle I had even recognised the woman I had once known so well. Where she had once been plump and round she was now thin; the skin hanging loosely off her like a sack. Her face was scored with deep lines giving her a constantly drooping expression which suggested a misery which had left an indelible and permanent mark. I knew exactly which misery had affected her so deeply.

But the biggest change was in her eyes. I had known Julia for as long as I could remember, and her eyes had always been captivating, and so incredibly expressive. Brown, warm and full of life, they had followed H and I since we were children. They lit up when we brought her our little projects, sparkled when we hugged her legs, and turned dark with anger when we trekked mud all over the kitchen floor.

Now her eyes were dead and lifeless. Julia had been a second mother to me, but now she was gone.

I sat across from her in the kitchen I had grown up familiar with. Memories of Sunday morning pancakes with H and Mikey, homework evenings, mealtimes and so many more events at this table chased themselves through my mind. As children, we had alternated our time between my house and H's house. I knew every corner of this room and the rooms beyond it.

My hands were still shaking with cold and I gripped the cup of hot chocolate Julia had handed me in a bid to keep them warm. As I thanked her, her dead eyes met mine directly for the first time, and I was struck by a sudden memory of the last time I had seen her. I knew she was thinking of it too.

_There's nothing like a funeral to make you feel alive..._

_All morning I had been jittery. My teeth kept chattering, and every nerve in my body felt like a live wire as I jumped at each touch. I always got like this at stressful occasions - family dinners, school events, competitions. Usually H was beside me to squeeze my knee and reassure me without words, not letting me embarras myself. But H wasn't next to me today. H was off on his own, the guest of honour at this event._

_I sat in the car outside the church with my parents. Fourteen years old and horribly out of place, uncomfortable and itchy in my brand new charcoal black suit. I was being subjected to a behaviour lecture. Father kept reminding me that we were sitting in the second row because the first was reserved for family. Didn't they know H had been my family? He told me to stay quiet at all times, and to offer my condolences to H's parents in a subdued and polite voice. Mother kept tugging at my tie, straightening it and then dragging a brush through my hair. They were so concerned about how I looked. So worried about how I was going to present myself. Nobody seemed to remember it was my best friend in there. They never said it out loud; H was dead._

_A mis-jointed line from an old poem rang through my head..."Stop all the clocks...for he is dead"_

_I choked back the sobs that were aching to burst out of my throat, making sure I kept my expression calm and composed. Ever since the news of H's death had reached us, I hadn't let them see me cry. I cried alone at night where nobody could see. My parents didn't tell me how H had died at first. I only found out the truth from my classmates at school. Children could be so cruel. They joked about it uneasily, making hanging gestures and pretending to choke each other. The girls pretended to be appalled. They whispered in small groups when I walked past. They spoke more loudly about how they had been his friends. Everyone pretended they had been his friend._

_They had hated him while he was alive. But death makes everyone a celebrity._

_I alone seemed unable to escape the horror of what had actually happened. While my classmates talked in hushed whispers and speculated, I did my research. I searched it whenever there was nobody else on the computer, looking at images until I felt sick, and fell asleep only to wake to nightmares of dangling body's and blue faces. Mum and Dad thought I had believed them when they told me H had died in a car accident. Had they really not thought the truth would come out?_

_"Time to go" Mother said quietly, opening her car door. I realised then that this must be hard for her too. H had been a third son to her - she had loved him almost as much as I had. That alone was enough to get me out of the car, and reaching for her hand. She sniffed for a moment as I took it and pulled me in close to her side. Then at a look from my father, she let go quickly._

_We entered the church in silence. Why were we in a church? H would have hated it. He wasn't religious. We used to listen to anarchist punk bands and talk about bringing down the choke-hold religion held on normal society. We talked about starting a band, and writing songs to tell the world that God was a lie. H's parents knew all of this - they laughed at us and told us to write all the songs we wanted. Why had they wanted his funeral in a church?!_

_The robed priest greeted us at the door, his elderly balding head bowed in sorrow as he offered his condolences. I ignored him, and didnt take the embossed card he offered us, in spite of my mothers sharp poke in my ribs. I wasn't going to speak to a man who dedicated his life to fairytales which destroyed lives. Bob and Ray were standing there too, on either side of the inner door. They were dressed identically in black suits with red ties. We exchanges glances, but said nothing. Some things couldn't be said._

_My father took the card from the priest and nodded to Bob and Ray. Then we entered the enormous vaulted church. The wooden floor clacked under my polished shoes and I flinchd, embarrassed. We were almost the first to arrive. I could see at one end, a pitch black lacquered coffin. A short man, his hat pulled low over his eyes, was paying his respects. In the front row, I made out the black-clad figure of H's mother. As I stared, she delicately dabbed at a tear from her cheek with her hankerchief, before pulling her black veil over her eyes,_

_In an effort to distract myself, I glanced over at the card my father had taken from the priest, taking in the cream paper. There was fancy swirling writing scross the top. I squinted closer to read it. 'In memory of...' It said. Then there was a tree. It was embossed deeply into the picture with black ink - a willow, twisting and bending. I looked closer, expecting to see H's name somewhere. But the name I saw at the bottom of the card made me recoil._

_Underneath, H's full name. The fucking fake name they still made him use. They had put his goddamn real name on the card._

_- outing him at his own funeral._

_"Assholes" I hissed as I saw it. "How dare they?!"_

_My mother grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. "This is a funeral Gerard" she muttered in a low fierce whisper. "Don't you dare make a scene. H's parents have the right to put whatever name they want on the card."_

_In memory of...Helena._

_Helena. H._

_How dare they use his birth name. I was shaking with rage, so much rage I felt like I was going to vomit. H had struggled for fifteen years to be accepted. As children, I had always known that the little girl I was playing next to was actually a boy. Even though the child was dressed in a skirt and pink top and his mother called him Helena. He was a BOY._

_When H was eight, he finally managed to tell his parents what was wrong with him. Their daughter had never existed. They had a son, trapped in a female body._

_We had made it through together. H's parents didn't understand. But they didn't want to lose their child. And so they went to therapists, they called in child experts, and they finally took H to a doctor who specialised in transgender children. H was officially diagnosed with gender dysphoria, and his parents helped him finally begin life as the boy he had always been._

_After that, it was simple. H was a boy. Everyone knew that. His parents most certainly knew that. So why would they put his real name on the card, unless they were planning to..._

_I moved to the front of the church, as though in a trance. It was filling up now, row upon row of mourners. A black parade. The dark coffin lay on a raised bed at the very front. The lid was open. I was terrified. I had never seen a dead person before, and the thought of it struck me right in my most childish fears. But I had to know what they had done to him._

_I stepped up to the coffin and looked over the side._

_There he lay. Dead. Cold. Still._

_Dressed in female clothes._

_Rage filled me, a fury so great I began to shake as I looked at my best friend. His delicate features that he tried so hard to hide had been brought forwards. And highlighted with makeup. His face was powdered pale, his eyes outlined dark. The breasts he wrapped everyday in a tight bind and hid under baggy shirts, were pushed up for everyone to see. His tiny, unmistakably female waist was pulled into a black satin corseted dress. Even his small feet were clad in black silk ballet shoes. His parents had allowed the coroner to make him into a woman for everyone to see. And I wanted to tear them apart for it._

_Taking one last longing glance at my dead friend, I spun around to confront his mother. Only to find myself facing a full church. I hadn't realised my parents were right behind me until they took one arm each, and steered me quickly to the second row._

_As they forced me into a seat I was still shaking, great tremors that came from inside me and shook me inside and out. It wasn't bad enough having my best friend die. They had to make a mockery out of his entire life too, at his own funeral to boot. I couldn't bear to realise this would be my finally memory of my friend - lying cold, still and dead, dressed in the clothes he had spent his entire life trying to escape. I hadn't even had time to take in the fact that it was actually his dead body that was in front of me - I was too appalled by what they had done to him._

_The funeral service passed quickly. People spoke about him. Some of them used the right name and pronouns. Some of them used the wrong ones. The priest looked confused every time someone referred to H correctly, and that angered me more than anything. I had thought we had left all this behind years ago._

_When we bowed our heads to pray, I knelt and closed my eyes obediently. I didn't pray, because I didn't believe in god. Instead, I let a single tear escape while nobody was looking. For a moment, I heard the air rush past me, and I could have sworn I heard the movement of feet. Then distinctly, clearly, something - or someone - brushed their hand over my head, soothingly. I jumped. A few seconds passed, and then I opened my eyes. On my right side, there was the aisle. On my left side, my father. He would never have touched me, but there was nobody on the right. I shivered._

_We carried the coffin out. Bob, Ray, myself, Mikey, H's father, and the small man who we were told was H's cousin. They didn't want to let us carry the coffin at first, as we were only teenagers. But we insisted. H had no other male relatives, and we would never let our friend drop. It was raining heavily, and the water trickled down my face and into my collar as we exited the church, the coffin resting heavily on our shoulders. Finally amongst the safety of the raindrops, I felt safe to cry._

_Other mourners opened up black umbrellas to cover themselves, as they made their way down the steps with us. We were crowded, but I felt entirely alone, as though the weight of my friends body rested on my shoulder only. When we pushed the coffin into the hearse and slowly closed the door, I couldn't resist. I pressed my palm against the glass and leaned in, taking one last look at the coffin. That was my best friend in there, but it wasn't really. It was his empty, dressed-up shell. My best friend was gone._

_I turned away from the hearse slowly._

_And that was when I saw Julia again. She was standing alone, her husband fending off the other mourners. Her long black dress clung to her body, highlighting the weight she had already begun to lose since the death. Rain had soaked the felt of her hat, and she had removed her veil. There were streaks on her face where she had cried through her makeup. She looked completely and utterly pitiful. But I had no pity._

_Ignoring everyone, I pushed through the crowd towards her, shoving past Mikey. I came to a halt in front of Julia, panting slightly. She looked at me with a look of such horror and loathing that I was taken aback. But I didn't have time to care why she might hate me now. "What did you do to him?!" I snarled. "What. Did. You. DO."_

_Julia looked me straight in the eye, with a calm and measured expression. Then she opened her black clutch bag, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. When she spoke, her words were without inflection. She spoke like a dead woman._

_"Answer me the same, Gerard. What did you do to my son."_

_And then she handed me H's suicide note, the last piece of the puzzle. The last confirmation I needed to know that it had been me who killed him._

/

I remembered that terrible day with perfect clarity, but the sting had faded. It had, after all, been so very long ago. Julia's eyes searched mine, and found nothing but weariness. I realised with a certain level of surprise, that I didn't blame her anymore.

"What are you doing here?" She asked me. Considering she had had the decency to take me into her home off the street and even make me a hot drink before she began questioning me, I thought she deserved a real answer. The only problem was that I wasn't certain myself.

"I don't know." I told her honestly. Julia nodded, without much surprise.

We sat in silence for a little while. I found myself relaxing, as the hot drink warmed my insides, relieved to have the opportunity to breathe. A glance at the kitchen clock surprised me; it was already early afternoon. I had been walking around the suburbs of New York for far longer than I had initially realised.

I sipped my drink quietly, as Julia busied herself by closely inspecting the wooden surface of the table. I would never have expected to feel so calm in her presence again.

Eventually it was me that broke the silence; the ghost hovering between us had to be addressed. "Do you ever...still think about him?" I asked quietly.

Julia's eyes met mine incredulously, and I saw a flicker behind the stillness for a moment. "Not an hour goes by when I don't remember my son," she said.

Her son.

We fell silent again.

"I'm sorry."

The words fell between us, into the silence. I wasn't even sure if it was me who had spoken them at first, until Julia replied.

"It wasn't your fault."

I almost laughed out loud at that, albeit bitterly. Julia had been the one who had made it perfectly clear that it was my fault from the moment she handed me the note. As I tried to come up with a suitable response, she stood up and left the room abruptly.

I sat back in the wooden chair, and rested my elbows on the table, cupping my face in my hands. My thoughts were threatening to overwhelm me again, my more maudlin tendencies coming to the surface. Before I could be engulfed however, Julia poked her head back around the kitchen door.

"Come with me" she requested.

My curiosity piqued, and wondering in no small part if she was about to throw me out, I followed her out of the door, and then up the stairs. I only realised where we were heading when she stopped outside the door on the second floor. Pausing for a moment as though steeling herself, Julia glanced and me and pushed her brown hair out of her eyes, tucking it nervously behind an ear. Then she opened the door to H's old bedroom.

Peering cautiously around her shoulder, I was stunned by what I saw. Nothing had changed since the last time I had been in here, as though the room had lain silent and preserved ever since its last owner had left it. From the layer of dust coating everything from the drums in the corner to the ornaments on the windowsill, it didn't look like anybody had been in here for years. It was exactly the same bedroom that I had seen in my dream last night.

The double bed that still took up the centre of the room was unmade; the navy sheets and bedding rumpled and creased. That more than anything frightened me - you could almost believe that somebody had slept in this bed and left it only this morning. It was hard to believe so many years had passed.

"I almost never come in here." Julia spoke unexpectedly from behind me. She moved further into the room, and wandered over to the desk that ran along one wall. I noticed she was careful never to touch anything. "After it...happened, the police were everywhere. But once they had ascertained exactly what had happened, they left this room alone. And after that I just couldn't bring myself to change anything."

Julia was scaring me. It was beyond obvious that she hadn't moved on one tiny bit since her sons death, and if I didn't know better I would say she had gone a tiny bit mad. But than, hadn't I? After all, this was exactly what I had come to New York for, even if I hadn't realised it until Julia walked up to me on the street.

I looked at the fading certificates on the walls, with names of schools who had probably already forgotten H had ever existed by now. The band posters made me smile more. They were greater tributes to who H had been as a person. I wandered slowly over to the tiny window, gazing out at the pebbled driveway of the house. This whole place was giving me the creeps, but there was no ghost to be chased here. The twisted poltergeist of my dream wasn't going to arrive.

Maybe I needed to be alone. I tried to make my request as measured as possible."Can I maybe..stay up here for just a little?"

Julia looked surprised, but resigned. Already I could see her eyes fading back towards the dead mask I had seen when I first arrived at the house. "Of course." She said, before abruptly leaving the room. I heard her clattering down the stairs. Although I hadn't actually asked her to leave, I has relieved that she did.

Looking back around the room, I idly picked up a sheet off the desk. It was maths homework, half finished. Due in four years ago. This more than anything made me feel the guilt again. If it hadn't been for me, H would have completed this homework, and handed it in.

As I looked around the room again, I felt a chill come over me as I noticed a lump in the middle of the pillow. Lifting the pillow, I was surprised to see a small red notebook, tangled up with set of pyjamas. Julia wasn't lying when she said she hadn't touched anything. I had completely forgotten the existence of this notebook until now, and I never imagined it would still be here.

Pulling it from the tangle of clothing, I sank to the floor cross-legged, and leaning against the bed, I flicked open to a random page and began to read.

_...were being assholes again today. But I don't know what they expect. If they put me in a fucking co-ed gym class there's going to be hell in the changing rooms. Even Ray couldn't stop it today..._

I flicked through the pages quickly, reading random excerpts. I felt slightly guilty, even though H was never going to upbraid me for reading his diary again.

_...went for a walk with Gery, finally told him what's been happening. It was a relief to tell someone, even if I think I freaked him out a bit. I hope he doesn't tell Mikey..._

_...IT HAPPENED AGAIN! Why can't they just leave me alone?! I ended up cutting again after I promised Gery I wouldn't. I don't know what he's getting so high and mighty about though, he's not fooling anybody with his long sleeves..._

_...he's so pretty. I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I can't help it. He was trying to teach me guitar again today and I swear I felt his hands lingering on mine..._

It was too painful to read everything. Every time I read my name it was like a stab in the chest. The worst part was that I recognised most of the events he was describing. But there was one entry I knew I had to read. I would never be able to let it rest if I didn't finish this once and for all. Taking a deep breath, I rifled through the pages of the diary until I found the very last entry ever made. It was almost illegible.

_February 14th, 1991_

_Everything is ready! I'm meeting Gery before school and we're walking together. I'll give him the card then, and tell him not to open it until I say so. Then I can give him his present later, and tell him the truth at the same time. I'm so excited! By the end of today I'll have my first boyfriend if everything goes well. I'm so fucking nervous!_

The entry was scored through, as though someone had literally taken a knife and tried to slice the page to pieces. Underneath, there was more writing and I held it close to my face to read it.

_It all went wrong. Oh my god it went so fucking wrong. He says we're not right together, that we're only meant to be friends. I can't stop fucking crying, I barely made it home before it started. I don't know what to do. I can't stay here in this neighbourhood and face him again - not now. I'm going to talk to mom tomorrow and ask her if I can go and live with dad for a few months while it dies down. I know this sounds extreme, but I've never loved anyone like I love him. I can't face him, I just can't. I'll write him a note and leave it for mom to give to him, telling him I'm going away for a while. I'm going to go for for a walk now, to clear my head. Then I'll call dad._

_I'm not angry at Gerard. How could I be angry at him? He's perfect, and I can't blame him for simply not loving me back. But everything is too fresh right now. Maybe in a few months we'll be able to talk again, and I'm sure one day we can resume our friendship. I can't tell him this in the note I'll leave for him of course - if I don't sound at least a bit angry I'll lose all his respect. But at least a note should be enough to make him feel bad enough to try and work on our friendship._

The entry ended there. And I was completely and utterly bewildered. The next page was ripped, as though a sheet of paper had been torn from it. Slowly I pulled my wallet from my pocket, and opened it up. Carefully I slid out a folded sheet of paper. A piece of paper that I had been carrying around for five years. I lined it up against the notebook, already knowing that it was a perfect fit. And I read the words I already knew so well.

_Gery,_

_I'm leaving now. It's finally over, and I have never been happier in my life. I just feel this darkness inside of me all the time, and while I was with you, it lifted. I thought maybe you could be the one who banished it for good. But you don't want to be though, do you? You don't want to be mine._

_I realised today that all my dreams have turned to nothing. Every future I ever had, I imagined you in it. Always by my side, and together the world could have been ours. But I know now, that I was wrong. I don't blame you. But I don't forgive you either. I want to say 'be happy' but I just can't bring myself to._

_At least I'm going somewhere you can't hurt me anymore._

_-H_

It had never been a suicide note. It had been a letter to tell me he was leaving for a few months.  
>H had killed himself that night. Yet in his diary entry, written only a few hours before his death, H clearly had no intention of taking his own life. I sat still for a long moment, just letting it sink in. Then I stood and ran downstairs, skidding breathlessly into the kitchen. "Julia!" I said impatiently.<p>

Julia was standing at the sink peeling earthy potatoes, a smudge of dirt across her cheek. "Yes?" She asked sharply, turning to see what I was so worked up about.

"The night that-" I paused, uncertain how to phrase it. "The night that H died...what happened that afternoon?"

Julia took a sharp breath and clutched the sink. The potato peeler clattered noisily from her hands onto the bench top. Then she turned to me slowly and spoke in a tone so poisonous I froze. "You should know. After all, he was with you and Mikey all evening."

"What?" I was bewildered again. H had confronted me during our lunch hour, giving me a card and flowers, and confessed his feelings for me. He had tried to kiss me. I had dealt with the situation badly and awkwardly, and he had run from the room. I never saw him again, least of all that particular evening.

"No he wasn't!" I insisted. "What are you talking about?"

Julia fixed me with her eyes again. "H came home upset, and wouldn't tell me why. After he stayed in his room for an hour or so he came downstairs and told me he was going to see you. He came back hours later, mumbled something about seeing Mikey, and ran up to his room. He looked like he had been beaten up, so I assumed you three had been fighting. When I went up later..."

Julia's eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she didn't finish her sentence. "I'm sorry" I said awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Julia sniffed, and dabbed at her eyes. I wasn't sure what to do, so I jumped back to my previous thoughts and asked quickly; "err, can I use your telephone maybe?" Julia nodded weakly, and gestured to the hallway.

I felt bad leaving her there, but I didn't know how to comfort her. And I had to know the truth. For five years I had lived with the belief that H had killed himself because of me, keeping this belief locked inside where nobody would find it. I had left Frank because I was afraid the same thing would happen. If there was any chance it wasn't true, I needed to know now.

I dialled the number with shaking fingers, and waited for the person on the other end to pick up.

"Hello Way residence?"

"Mikey?"

I heard the gasp on the other end of the phone. "Gerard! Where the hell are you?! Everyone is going absolutely crazy here, there are people everywhere-"

I cut him off. "Mikey not now. Right at this moment, I need you to tell me exactly where you were and what happened the night H died. Please don't ask why, I just need to know."

The silence on the end of the line was defeaning, and I could almost hear all the questions Mikey was burning to ask me. But when he spoke, it was in a hushed whisper as he answered my question.

"H was upset Gee, you have to understand. He really cared about you, and he was gutted when you left him. He called me and told me he was going for a walk and asked if I wanted to come.

"I met him a few streets away, and we wandered around. We didn't talk about what had happened, we kept it to music and school. I think he just wanted to forget about it for a while. After an hour or so we were about to leave when we ran into a bunch of thugs from school. They started taunting him, calling him a girl and using his real name.

"I think that was the final straw. He snapped, and ran at them. I tried to stop him but I couldn't, and they set on us both. I got hit a bit, but they beat the shit out of him Gerard. Before they left, they even stripped his shirt and exposed his bindings, pulling his breasts out and calling him a freak for trying to be a boy."

I couldn't breathe. "Mikey, what happened then?" I asked urgently.

Mikey sighed on the other end of the phone. "H was distraught. I wanted to walk him home, but he told me to leave."

I sensed rather than heard Mikey start crying. "He told me that he had nothing left, that he was going to be stuck in a girls body forever. I had never seen him like that before, and I tried to reassure him. He just wanted to go home though, so I let him go...and..and then we got the call later."

Mikey was really crying now, trying to muffle his sobs. "It was my fault Gee, I should never have let him go home alone."

I couldn't speak, could hardly catch my breath. The realisation was flooding through me like a dam had burst.

_It wasn't my fault._

I pulled myself together around the same time that Mikey did. "I'm sorry" I apologised. "Mikey, I spent five years thinking it was my fault for rejecting him. It wasn't your fault either though! It was them - the kids from school. It was never us!"

I gave in then, and let the tears escape. And there, in our respective hallways, miles away - we both cried with the relief of absolution.

"Come home" Mikey said softly. "Frank needs you Gerard. He's been crying all day."

Guilt pierced through me. How could I have left Frank like that? More tears fell as I thought about the perfect, beautiful boy that was waiting at home for me. Frank was my forever. I was finally free to love him.

"Oh yes Mikey" I smiled though my sobs. "I'm coming home now."

/

Julia didn't seem sorry to see me leave. But as I paused on the doorstep and looked back, she suddenly wrapped me tightly in her arms. Even after all these years I still recognised her scent, and I breathed in deeply, making one last memory. Her face was still tear-stained, but she looked calmer. Maybe seeing me had helped her too.

It was almost dark when I finally left the house. The sun had finished setting over the Manhattan skyline, streaking orange across the sky. It was growing cold again and I shivered as I crossed the street. It was a long walk back to the train station, but I didn't care. I crunched through the streets feeling lighter than air. I was buoyed up, floating like a cloud.

I couldn't remember the last time I had felt so free. The guilt that had been choking me for years was gone and I laughed out loud, my chuckles echoing across the dimly lit streets. I wanted to run, to jump, to skip all the way back to New Jersey and wrap Frank in my arms!

As I reached the city, the lights grew brighter and brighter. Walking along the sidewalk I wasn't alone anymore; last minute commuters bustled past me, all in a hurry to their individual hells. I checked the time worriedly, wanting to make sure I got to the station in time for the last train. Zipping up my coat against the cold, I broke into a jog as the lights of the train station finally came into view across the street.

I looked to the left, checking there were no cars coming, and then I jogged out into the road. The smack of my feet hitting the wet concrete of the streetwasn't audible over the hum of the traffic. But I felt every single one reverberate through me, in one endless thrumming beat which told me something is wrong.

I never checked the right hand side on the two-way street.

I never saw the red car coming towards me.

I never even saw the flashing of the lights.

The long beep of the horn.

A sudden pain that surpassed everything I had ever felt before.

To my surprise, instead of the bright lights of the city I saw Franks face in my mind, and he smiled at me with his beautiful dark eyes.

"Sleep now" he told me.

Everything went dark.

Little did I know, it would be seven years before I saw light again.

/

/

/

**That right there is the longest chapter I've ever written, wow It was a killer. Im halfway through the next and lasted chapter already so it should be posted in a week or so. **

**Thank you so much for sticking with this story far. I hope I don't disappoint in the last chapter. Also I received three reviews when I woke up, which was the trigger to post this. So it's true, reviews really do make me post faster! **

**_"I hate the ending myself, but it started with an alright scene..." _**

**~Hana Belladonna**


	37. Skylines and Turnstiles

**Dear readers, thank you for reaching this point with me. I'm sorry it's been a long wait - this chapter was already 10,000 words long when I somehow deleted it by accident. The resulting fall-out left me unable to bring myself to continue writing for another month or so until I recovered.**

**I can hardly believe this is the last chapter. It seems so long ago that fifteen year old me was so sick of reading unfinished fanfics that she promised herself that goddamnit no matter what she would write one and finish it. I never thought it would take me almost three years. I'm a bloody slow writer! In the epilogue there will be a lot more about the story - acknowledgements and the like. So for now I'll leave this here.**

/

/

/

_On the day that it all happened, I was alone._

_I was alone. Walking, coolly and quickly down the city streets in crowded downtown Manhattan, feeling little except the vibrations running through my body at the muted thud of my leather boots hitting the concrete. The crowds upon the pavement were like fields of harvest wheat. They jostled me, and it seemed as though the wind was bending the stalks in a bid to break them, but I barely felt it. I was alone inside my head with my music, like every other person in this damn empty city. Just another regular guy, trying to get to work ontime like everybody else._

_Just me, just Gerard Way._

_I knew my name was Gerard Way, only because they told me that was what it was, when I woke up from the transcent, endless sleep of a coma exactly two hundred and six days ago. They could have been lying of course, and I would know no difference. But statistically it seemed unlikely. I have nothing they would want, and I could see no way they would gain an advantage by concealing my identity. So for all intents and purposes, we can assume Gerard Way is my name._

_Lying in a coma can be a beautiful thing. Up to one in three people who recover claim to retain some memory of the time. Their accounts depict a spectrum of experiences ranging from an absolute void to partial awareness within overall unconsciousness, much like dreaming during deep sleep. To my disappointment, I remembered nothing from my coma but the moment between sleep and wakefulness, when the sense of my corporeal self became absolute, and I came to exist again. Before then, my mind is a complete blank. I am like a half completed book, with all the previous chapters wiped out - as though the author had changed their mind halfway through the novel, leaving a character struggling to finish their own story, with no supporting background. I was like a mutated, monstrously overdeveloped newborn child, who is born into the world with the ability to speak, read and write. To function utterly normally, but with no memory of specific people or events._

_I was half a man._

_Of course, they filled in the gaps in my knowledge somewhat. Again, I had to merely hope they were telling the truth. They told me I was an artist, and my dream was to work for the Cartoon Network. They told me I had a mother and a father and two brothers, one real and one adopted. They told me I was twenty four years old._

_The real brother came to visit sometimes, when I was in that room with the white walls after I first awoke. He said his name was Michael-call-me-Mikey. He sat awkwardly on the wooden chairs they provided, and tried hard to smile, but he could barely look me in the eye. Sometimes he brought a pretty dark-haired woman with him. I think she was his wife. She told me her name was Alicia. She seemed more relaxed around me than Michael-call-me-Mikey, and sometimes she showed me pictures of myself that I didn't remember being taken._

_The adopted one never came. They told me his name was Frank, and that I had known him once, a very long time ago. But I didn't know him. They were wrong, I had never seen him before in my life._

_On the day that it happened, all the birds flew away. They took to the air in a flurry of wings and feathers, their impossibly light forms clouding the blue skies and obscuring the sun. People in the street stopped and stared, titlting their heads back and gazing into the sky as though looking for a sign from God; as though they were praying. Tourists with more practice at reacting to the unexpected, pulled out cheap plastic cameras to snap this phenomenon, and across the street from me a young child tugged on an older woman's hand eagerly, excitedly. But I didn't notice. I kept walking, one measured tread after another, dodging around the occassional person who had actually come to a standstill. I was too busy being alone to pay attention._

_On the day that it happened, I was nearly at work, because as it turned out they had been right. I was an artist, undeniably, so it looked like they hadn't been lying about that particular detail after all. However talent and employment rarely go hand in hand, and simply being an artist is no guarantee of a job in todays industry. It wasn't back then, and as far as I know it still isn't today. As it was, I worked in the basement of a comic book store, nurturing my other great love; of graphics. I was almost there, and I had just crossed the main intersection, dodging cars and buses, and blended safely back into the crowd when it happened._

_The first thing we heard was the explosion._

_It shattered the early morning peace -already partially disturbed by the birds - in a hailstorm of fire and screams, the screech of protesting metal. I looked up, up past the building and saw the monster. A bird of shiny silver metal, not of blood and feathers, was destroying the world. The shockwaves from the impact almost knocked me off my feet, and I reeled as I stood. I wasn't the only one. Everywhere, there was suddenly shouting, screaming, panic. But as I regained my balance, I just stared as people began to run, knocking into me, ignoring me in their blind terror like rats trapped on a sinking ship. I couldn't feel anything. I wasn't hurt, it wasn't touching me._

_I looked up, into the sky and I saw it. The two towers. The end of the world. Because the world was on fire._

_Before I could begin to process what had just occurred, it happened again. Suddenly the first terrible pillar of smoke and flame, was joined by its twin and there were two terrible flaming brands, jutting out into the sky._

_I walked numbly towards the devastation, as though in a daze. My mind was strangely empty, no emotion or real thought. In retrospect, I believe I was going into shock. I was within a few hundred metres of the hit towers now, sensation barely returning. The acrid stench of burning brought me back to myself more than anything else. The flames were taking hold, somewhere halfway up the first tower, and beginning to spread. On the streets below, crowds gathered wherever there was a view of the smoking towers. As I looked around me in shock, peoples reactions ranged from stunned disbelief to weeping. As we watched the groan of protesting metal rose to a hideous screech like a beast in agony, and then we saw the building begin to buckle. As one, we watched as the World Trade Centre collapsed into a pile of smoking rubble. The dust cloud was choking, and I doubled over. Others, better men than I, immediately and quickly pitched in, doing what they could to direct traffic or assist people._

_Along 6th Avenue, New Yorkers stood aghast as they watched the buildings burn, and a sudden shriek went up when the other tower collapsed, sending a huge plume dust into the air. People ran screaming as a growing cloud of debris hit the streets of lower Manhattan and pushed them up the Avenue. It was like a scene out of a movie as the huge ball of rubble grew behind a terrorised crowd, running for cover._

_I learned later from the newspapers and television coverage, that further uptown, trolleys formed outside St. Vincent's Medical Centre in Greenwich Village awaiting the injured. Hospital staff went through the crowd pleading with people to donate blood. Shopkeepers shut-up shop, while others remained open as employees gathered around televisions and radios to hear what had happened. Major north-south thoroughfares were shut down for access to police and emergency vehicles only, as pedestrians made their way uptown. It has always amazed me how some people react to tragedies. The human condition is one to endure, to adapt, to cope and survive. Miracles happened that day. Heroes were made, people were found alive where they should have died, and strangers joined together in a doomed attempt to comprehend the depth of the disaster that had struck when they least expected it._

_I wish I could say I contributed in some useful way that day. That perhaps I joined the search for the missing, or extended a hand to a passer-by who had simply broken down in tears - because there were plenty - or helped to organise food and clothing in some way, or anything._

_But I didn't. I was still just standing there. Alone._

_I saw the bodies fall from the sky._

_I saw people on fire._

_I watched the world burn around me, and for the first time in seven years since the moment I entered that coma, I felt again. Sensation and memory cut through me like a knife, and I remembered everything._

_/_

/

I fell slowly to my knees. The cold bite of the concrete beneath me barely registered against the sudden thrumming of a mind which has just begun to function again. What mental capacity must a man have to survive eighteen years worth of memories suddenly flooding back? A strong mind could surely barely cope, and I had never pretended to be strong.

I was Gerard Way. For the first time since I woke up from that coma almost a year ago, I knew who that person was. Goddamit, I was that dumb artist kid that should have spent the last several years at the art institute in this very city! I was Gerard Way, the kid who couldn't play guitar and drew vampires and broken hearts everywhere so I didn't have to paint the real world.

My hands were trembling, as I raised them slowly up to my face, turning them over as though confirming they belonged to me. I pulled my sleeves back even slower, taking the time to observe every single scar scattered across my wrists, trailing up towards my forearms. Nobody had explained the scars to me when I woke up. I mean, I wasn't stupid. I knew what 'self inflicted' looked like. But now I could remember how I got them - what they meant, and why I had done that to myself.

Here's the thing though. I didn't just remember the scars, or the memory loss. I even remembered the fucking accident.

_Eyes open on a red and blue spin of lightening. A blitzkrieg of voices, noises. A metal rod pierces the side of the car, jaws its apart. Uniforms. Christ, I'm in hell and they wear uniforms. One man shouts. Another says in a soothing voice: "We'll get you out. Don't worry." He wears a badge. "You're gonna be all right," he promises through his moustache. "What's your name?" Can't remember. Another paramedic yells to someone I can't see. He recoils at the sight of me. Are they supposed to do that? Blackness._

_Eyes open. I'm strapped to a spine board. A voice, "Three, two one, lift." The sky rushes towards me and then away from me. "In" says the voice. A metallic clack as the stretcher snaps into place. Coffin, why no lid? Too antiseptic for Hell, and could the roof of Heaven really be made of grey metal? Blackness._

_Eyes open. Weightless again. Charon wears a blue polyester-cotton blend. An ambulance siren bounces off a concrete Acheron. An IV has been inserted into my body - everywhere? I'm covered with a gel blanket. Wet, wet. Blackness._

_Eyes open. The thud of wheels like a shopping cart on concrete. The damn voice says "Go!" The sky mocks me, passes me by, then a plaster-white ceiling. Double doors slither open. "OR Four!" Blackness._

I choked on the scent of sulphur as I came back to myself, shuddering from reliving the accident. Some memories I would have chosen to consign to the darkness. But if given the choice between no memories, and remembering every incident and moment I had ever lived through, I would gladly take the latter.

From my place kneeling amongst the rubble, I slowly began to take account of my surroundings.

In my freshly reawakened state, it was like seeing the accident all over again. Right in front of me, it was happening a thousand times over. Plumes of dust, scorching heat, fire everywhere. Was metal supposed to burn? People screaming, hot scratchy voices coated with that special high-pitched note that spells terror. Not ordinary terror. Disaster terror.

I couldn't move from my knees. Everywhere was chaos, people running and I was useless. I felt pinned there as though a giant hand was pressing me down, crushing me into the dirt. I coughed violently, the bitter smoke beginning to make its way into my lungs. And I wasn't alone. A few steps away a man suddenly slumped to the ground and began to beat his fists against his knees, crying helplessly. I knew I should feel pity, but all I felt was mild revulsion at the way his tears were mixing with the filthy air to form dark tracks on his cheeks.

A few steps beyond him a young woman was standing silently looking up at the devastation. She was crying too, but there was more dignity to the way her tears progressed unchecked, as though she wasn't even aware of them. She was swaying slightly, and staring with glassy eyes. "_No_" I heard her whisper pointlessly. "_No_"

They were not the only ones. People were everywhere, and nobody knew what to do. Panic. Fear. Death. I scrambled backwards away from this greater horror of human helplessness. I pulled myself to my feet, and turned in blind terror from the desperate need around me. I began to walk, aimlessly. Anywhere away from what had happened.

I needed to find him. _Frankie_.

I walked through the tall concrete streets quickly, without taking note of my surroundings. The irony amused me - my last memory was of walking the streets of New York before I was hit. Then I supposed I shouldn't feel amused really.

I still felt amused.

The next thing that brought me back to myself was a shrill ringing noise. I didn't know how long I had been walking by that point. The sirens were still wailing closer than ever, so I must have traversed in a circle. The entire sky was taken up in one enormous cloud of dust, and there was a dim glow in one direction that I could guess was the still-burning wreckage of the buildings.

My phone. My phone was ringing. I fumbled in my pockets until I found it, and flipped it open without looking at the name. I would welcome anybody to talk to that wasn't dead or dying right now.

"Hello?"

"Gerard! Oh my god Gerard are you alright? Where are you? What happened?"

The flood of questions was frantic and constant. I winced and held the phone away from my ear until the caller had stopped talking. I recognised the voice. Then I responded more quietly.

"Mikey. I'm okay. I'm alive." What else could I say? That was a lot more than most people here today could say.

"Oh thank god! We were so worried, mu- er, Donna and Donald were panicking when they heard you were here. What happened?" There was a long pause on the line as I tried to phrase it, but before I could come up with an adequate response, my caller spoke again.

"Hang on. Did you just call me..._Mikey_?"

"Yes" I was confused.

"You haven't called me Mikey since..." The voice trailed off.

I thought about it for a moment. Then I answered for him. "Since that night the car hit me?"

The sharp intake of breath on the other line was all the confirmation I needed. "How did you know it was a car?! They told us telling you could set you back further."

I took another deep breath. It was now or never. "Mikey I _remember_" My voice broke on the last word, the enormity of what I was experiencing finally hitting me.

"I remember everything."

/

Mikey met me at the train station in New Jersey. He was taller than I had remembered - the boy had become a man. Although seven years had passed, in my mind it was as though the accident and everything previous to it had happened only last week. Taking in the sheer amount of time that had gone by was proving to be an unbelievably difficult task.

In fact, seeing Mikey helped the most because he was so different now. The scrawny skinny boy had grown upwards and filled out, becoming broad across the chest and shoulders. For a moment I felt almost shy: a teenager in the presence of an adult. Then I reminded myself that I too was an adult now , and walked forward to meet him.

I had so many compunctions about this moment, but Mikey swept them all away the instant he recognised me, walking towards me and then jogging the last few steps to grab me around the shoulders and pull me into a rough embrace. He held me so tightly I could almost feel my ribs cracking. When had Mikey grown this strong? I pounded on his back, gasping. "Mikey. Mikey! I can't breathe!'

Finally he released me, and gazed at me searchingly for a long second, before breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank god you're not hurt" he said. "We were so worried, and then when we couldn't contact you for hours..."

"I'm fine." There didn't seem any need to say more. My eyes involuntarily flickered to the skyline, where an enormous cloud hovered: a menacing presence in the clear evening sky. Mikey fell silent as he saw where my eyes landed.

Wordlessly he moved to stand by my side, and for a long time we didn't move. We just gazed out at the dark disaster-shaped reminder that life would never be the same again.

There were so many words that needed to be spoken, but it wasn't the right time. Losing seven years of my life had paled in comparison to every person who had died today. The sight of the bodies falling from the sky was burned into my retinas, and I wasn't sure I could ever escape the horror of it.

When it began to grow cold and I started shivering in the clothes I had chosen for shop work, Mikey seemed to come back to himself. Fussing over me in a way the teenager never had, he made me put on his thick leather coat and zip it up tightly in preparation for the long walk home. I realised then that I didn't even know where Mikey lived now, or anything about the lives of my family. When I woke up the first time, I hadn't cared. Why would I care when I had absolutely no idea who they were?

I wanted to ask Mikey where he lived, whether or not he had married Alicia, and where we were going. But even the simple questions seemed to require an enormous amount of effort to voice and I simply couldn't bring myself to do it. I let Mikey lead me, gazing down at my feet as we walked.

I noticed idly the leaves were starting to fall again, gathering in red and brown piles on the pavement. That meant it was autumn. _The same time of year I first met Frank._

That was another question I couldn't bring myself to voice. I had seen too much death today. If Frank was gone, I didn't want to know yet. I needed to be able to believe he was still alive for as long as I could manage.

/

My parents had grown old. That was my first thought when they opened the front door, and stood warily in the doorway. My mother still had the same caramel coloured curls, and careless blue eyes, but now delicate lines had traced themselves around her features, and her skin looked slightly translucent. My father sported grey at his temples, and seemed shorter than before. It took me a long moment to realise that it was I who had grown taller.

Their lack of immediate embrace surprised me. Why did they look so solemn?

"Hi mum, hi dad" I stuttered, when it became clear nobody else was going to speak. Mikey was a silent presence behind me. There was a long pause. Then my mother raised her face to mine.

"So it's true?" She whispered. I had never heard her speak so quietly before.

"What's true?"

"You...you remember us?" Her voice was weak. My father suddenly seemed more imposing as he drew her closer to him, looking at me as though daring me to confirm it.

"Yes mum." I said softly, hoping this was the answer they wanted. "I remember everything. Like it was yesterday."

With a choked cry, my mother pulled herself free from my father and veritably threw herself into my arms. "Gerard, oh Gerard" she sobbed into my shoulder, gripping me with more strength that I could have believed. Looking over her shoulder to my father, I was able to see the exact moment when desperate hope turned to a glorious realisation which blossomed across his face, lighting him up from the inside.

I felt Mikey embrace us from behind, and then my father finally stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his family. In the midst of all the suffering and the pain, after seven long years we were reunited at last. Never before had I been so aware of how much love my family had offered me. Never before had I felt so blessed.

The warmth of my family enclosed me, and I felt a tiny bit of the cold inside me begin to thaw. It was like coming back to life.

We eventually made it through the door in a tangle of arms legs and heads. My mother immediately bustled off to the kitchen to make hot drinks for everyone, claiming that we needed them. I didn't want to be apart from her a moment longer, so I followed her, as did Mikey and my father. Perching myself on the kitchen counter again in the warmth and bright light was wonderful.

Mikey and my father took seats at the pale wooden table, and looked at me again. Everyone was looking at me, as though they could hardly believe I was real. Honestly I was having trouble believing the same about them. They looked so different from the people I had known. The warm bubble of relief inside me refused to burst however. Leaning back against the kitchen window, dangling my legs over the counter, I felt so at home.

My mother handed me a hot steaming cup of coffee, and I breathed in the scent gratefully. It was the same brand we had always bought, the same scent that had filled the kitchen morning after morning for my entire life.

Suddenly I realised my mother had also taken a seat at the table, and they were all looking at me again. Not wanting to be the odd man out, I slid from my spot and pulled out a chair beside them. Now we were finally here, it seemed none of us knew where to start. The sheer horror of the disaster that had taken place, or the unbelievable miracle of my memories returning.

My mother spoke finally. "Did you see it happen?" She asked quietly.

I nodded slowly. I could see from her eyes that she wouldn't make me talk about it if I didn't want to, but suddenly I needed to.

"I was just walking to work. It was busy, but normal. Then there was this huge noise..."

I recounted everything, slowly and carefully, being certain to miss no detail. The way it had been the perfect morning - blue skies, no chill in the air. The way all the birds suddenly stopped singing. And the terrible, incredible moment when I witnessed the catastrophic explosion, the moment when the plane hit the tower, and everything was suddenly fire and darkness and suddenly I knew who I was again.

Later the doctors would tell me that it was a miracle. That somehow watching the explosion had triggered my memories of the accident which in turn had brought back everything else. They would tell me how incredibly rare it was for a person to regain all their memories in one moment, and how the human brain was so complicated they could never predict what it might do next. They would marvel over what had happened, and send me for MRI scans.

But all this was still in my future. In the present, all I could do was be thankful. We all were.

Except for one.

I still hadn't asked what had happened to Frankie. All the long walk back from the train station I had been hoping he would be at the house with my parents, but he wasn't. I reminded myself that, like me, he was twenty four now. Most twenty four year olds didn't live with their parents anymore.

I couldn't bring myself to ask. Not yet.

My mother gripped my hand tightly when I finished my story. "Thank god you're alive" she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank god we have you back."

/

I went downstairs soon after. I needed to be alone for a little whole, to try and begin to process everything that had happened. My family were understanding, and I got the feeling they wanted to talk without me there. I still hadn't received answers to all the questions I needed to ask, but I decided I would do it tomorrow. There was only so much information one person could process in a day.

About an hour after I went downstairs I heard the doorbell ring, and then familiar voices in the hallway. I recognised them, in spite of the time apart. Alicia and Dr Simmons, I was almost certain. What were they doing here? I added that to the list of questions I needed to ask. The temptation to go upstairs was very strong, but I didn't want to interrupt their little tete a tete about me.

I tried to sleep but I couldn't. My bed was too soft and narrow. And I couldn't break away from the knowledge that the last time I remembered sleeping in this bed, Frank had been here with me. I sniffed the pillows hopefully, but seven years had well and truly eradicated any scent of him which might have remained.

Rolling onto my back, I stared upwards at the bunk above me. The grainy yellow wooden slats with the burn marks, and the mattress protruding between them. Everything was exactly as I remembered. Except...I stared more closely. There were lots of scratches on the wood, but was that..?

On the wooden slat directly above my head, someone - and I was certain I knew who - had taken what appeared to have been a small knife or implement of some kind, and scratched words into the wood. They were tiny, and close to the edge of the wood; incredibly easy to not notice. I pulled myself into a sitting position, and craned my neck backwards to read them.

_Can we still regain our innocence?  
>F.A.I 2103/94_

I felt as though I had been shot. I reeled backwards, the words ringing through my head. I had left Frank that night and never been able to tell him I was coming back. Yet he had not left behind words of anger or reproach, but simply a question. It was so typical of him I thought I might cry.

As though I was in a trance, I left the bunk and switched on my main light. I felt possessed, like I had no control over my actions. Someone else was guiding me as I pulled my guitar from the closet. It suddenly didn't matter that I couldn't play. Nothing else mattered except that I should write down the words that were spinning through my head.

I strummed the first note, high pitched. Repeated. Then the second, lower but still squealing. I paused, this wasn't enough. I found a guitar pick. Much better.

Then I flew. I wrote and played until the tips of my fingers were blistered and bleeding, and the blood had begun to make the strings slippery. It hurt, but I was somehow separate from the pain. I could detach my mind like it wasn't a part of me anymore.

_You're not in this alone_

I wrote until the world disappeared and I was lost inside a blur of fear and flames, nothing existed but the music, the pain and the grief. I was the voice, and my song and my guitar were the messengers.

It was only when I wrote down the last line and the blood smeared across the paper, partly obscuring the words, that I finally paused. I placed the guitar down next to me carefully, and wiped my fingertips on a tissue. Then I pulled my notebook towards me and read what I had written.

As I read the lines on the paper, exhaustion overcame me and I knew I would be able to sleep now. Turning out the light, I let the world slip away.

/

The first thing that woke me up was the music. I could hear someone playing something upstairs, a song I didn't recognise. It was disturbingly upbeat, and I frowned in protest. It was far too early to be listening to happy music. I wondered how long I had before I had to get ready for school.

Then I realised the second thing that had woken me up. Someone had knocked on my door, and they now appeared to be opening it with scant regard for my sleeping habits. I sulked internally, as I waited to see which fool was about to enter my domain. To my surprise it wasn't my mother. I remembered then that I didn't have school either.

I forgot to sulk when an incredibly beautiful woman appeared in the doorway. To my shock she barely glanced at my state of undress, before walking into the room with a cheerful "Good morning Gerard!"

She was tall, willowy and beautiful, with a strong pale face, and dark eyes and hair. I stared in awe at this vision who had appeared from nowhere. She seemed so at home in my room, leaning against my desk as she waited for me to assert myself. Her sinful red lips curved upwards as I struggled to sit up while pulling the blanket around me. I may have been gay, but that didn't mean I couldn't appreciate a beautiful woman.

"Oh don't cover up on my account" she smirked at me. "I'm fairly sure you Way boys are all the same!"

Then I realised I knew who she was. "A-Alicia?" I gasped. The difference between the fifteen year old girl and the twenty two year old woman was astronomical. I had thought Mikey had changed, but it was nothing compared to how his skinny unremarkable girlfriend had matured into this stunning woman.

I recognised her slightly from the visits she had made while I was in rehab, but I was having trouble connecting memories of that time with the people I was meeting now. If I had seen her in rehab...that had meant she had married Mikey? My eyes dropped to her hands, taking note of the glittering band adorning her left ring finger.

Married. Mikey. And I was still pining over my lover from almost a decade ago. It was a bit pathetic really.

Alicia kindly waited until I had manged to put my racing thoughts into some kind of order before speaking again. "Your mum wanted you to know that breakfast is in half an hour. And.." She paused for a moment, looking sheepish. "I wanted to speak to you."

I nodded, still staring. I almost passed out when Alicia moved to sit on the bed next to me. "Mikey said you haven't asked any questions yet. As someone who isn't a blood-related family member, I thought I might be able to help there."

That made sense. Actually I was relieved to have someone to ask other than my actual family. The idea of asking Mikey how he and my parents had coped after my accident was horrible to contemplate. I was grateful Alicia had been so thoughtful, and pulled my questions into line before opening my mouth.

"Thank you." I began. I know I couldn't wait any long for my first question. "Please, what happened to Fr-Frank?" I didn't mean for my voice to break, but I couldn't help it.

Alicia sighed sadly. "I knew you would start with the difficult questions" she muttered. My heart caught in my mouth, until she smiled reassuringly at me. "Frank is fine now Gerard, don't panic. But after the accident...well that was a different story." For a moment all I could register was that he was alive. _He was still alive. I could still find him_. Then I realised Alicia was still talking.

"I was at the house the morning you disappeared. Frank was devastated. He told me what had happened between you, but made me promise not to tell Mikey or anyone else. I kept that promise to this day. The whole day he cried, and refused to leave your bedroom. Your parents were panicking so hard they barely noticed. In the evening, Mikey came running in to say you had called. The police traced the call, and identified you in New York. They arrived just in time to see the ambulance take you away." I winced, but gestured for Alicia to keep talking.

"Afterwards, Frank refused to leave you. He slept on the floor of your hospital room, and spent all day muttering to you in case you could hear him. I think that was when your parents finally realised there was more than friendship between you, and they freaked out. They loved Frank, but they didn't know how to cope. They made him come home, and it was then that he started cutting again."

I gasped at that, shaking my head in denial. But I knew already it was true. "So what happened?" I asked. "You said he was fine now?" It was more of an accusation than a question.

"He IS fine now. But he almost died again. He was cutting himself, burning himself and not eating for weeks on end. Your parents barely noticed - they were barely staying afloat with you, all your hospital bills and the doctors saying you might never wake up again. Mikey moved in with me for six months, it was that bad."

The guilt was unbearable. Alicia must have seen it on my face, because she reached out and touched my knee. "Hey, it's okay" she promised. "I told you, it got better.

"Dad - Dr Simmons - was living with us again. When Mikey told him what was happening, Dad and my mum went around there to sort it out. My mum started talking to yours, and gradually they managed to pull it together. Dad contacted the military and convinced them it was necessary to break protocol. They contacted Lieutenant Iero, and brought him home."

This was a twist I hadn't expected. "Franks _father_?" I had to confirm.

"Yep" Alicia told me. "Actually he was amazing. He couldn't believe his son was alive: I have never seen a man so happy. When he saw what Frank was going through he bought his way out of the military and took Frank away with him, claiming that his son needed to escape everything that had happened. They travelled together for a year or so, before settling back in NJ. They're still here. We see Frank every few weeks. He's happy, Gerard."

I sighed with relief. "Happy?"

"Very happy. He plays in a band. They have shows almost every week, they're really popular in the NJ scene."

My boy was alive, and he was happy. It was more than I had dared hope for.

My questions exhausted for the moment, I was almost about to stand and go to find breakfast, when I remembered the important question I hadn't asked yet.

"So, you and Mikey got married?"

Alicia's smile depended and became wicked. "Yep, at eighteen. Caused quite the scandal too. I'm not sure why, we'd been pretty much engaged since we were twelve."

I burst our laughing. "I know! Mikey came home from school the day he met you and told me he was going to marry you!"

Her dark eyes twinkled. "When you know...well, you know."

/

The day was a long blur. My father had to go to work, but my mother called in sick and so did Mikey. They helped me call my work and explain what had happened, and then organised the hospital appointments for me. Hospital wanted me to come in immediately, and by the time they had finished with all their tests it was late afternoon.

But I had been given a clean bill of health. As they described it, mentally I was essentially exactly the same person I had been seven years ago. They wanted me to take therapy sessions and I agreed. I was already difficult enough getting to grips with having an adult body. An adult life could only be harder.

Then mum called my old high school. The accident had taken place a week before my final exams, and I still had all the information in my head like I had only learnt it last week. Not taking those exams was the equivalent of not passing high school. They agreed to consult with the school governors and doctors, and see if I could still take the tests.

By early evening I found myself back in the living room, sketching the plant pots on the windowsill opposite me. I felt a little overwhelmed and tired after everything which had needed my input today. By the time Mikey left the house to see Alicia I was relieved to be alone for a little while. There was just so much to take in. I found it soothing, the scratch of my pencil on the paper and the dark lines appearing. The drawing was crap: it had been too long since I had practiced. But I would get there.

When my drawing was finished, I wandered back downstairs to my room. Moving to put my sketchbook on the desk I was confronted with the sight of the lyrics I had written last night. It was shocking to see them so stark and bare on the paper. But it made sense to me. These lyrics were the story of my life.

Suddenly it dawned on me, looking at the lyrics lying next to my drawing. What was making art really going to do? Was I going to live in the basement for the next ten years trying to make it as a comic book artist? For christssake, I had seen people die yesterday. I had watched as they literally chose to throw themselves through the windows of a burning building, knowing it would mean their death, but preferring the cold concrete to the flames.

What difference would my art really make in the world? I was filled with a sense of purpose so strong it consumed me. I had to get out of the basement! I had to see the world, I had to fucking do something.

This same sense of purpose compelled me upstairs into the hallway to our handset. I picked up the phone with shaking fingers, pressing the buttons to the number I remembered so clearly. Then I listened to the ringing, waiting for the voice to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Ray? It's Gerard."

"Gerard?! What the hell man, I heard you-"

I cut him off mid sentence. "I need you to answer something for me Ray. Are you happy now? In your life? Are things working out the way you want them to?"

"What?"

"Please, just answer the question."

There was a dead silence. Then a single word reply: "No. But what-"

I took a deep breath, and then I told him what I planned to do. When I had finished outlining my idea, I could almost see him shaking his head on the other end of the line. "No way man, you're completely fucking crazy" he told me.

"Maybe I am Ray" I said sharply. "But I saw people die yesterday. I know damn sure I'm not wasting another moment of my life. Just be here as soon as you can."

A long pause. Then, quietly: "Okay."

I allowed myself a long moment of satisfaction. Then I called Bob.

When Mikey arrived home I was ready for him too.

/  
>Three weeks later<p>

/

The venue was crowded. It was a tiny basement beneath a restaurant, atmospheric as hell with coloured lights flashing off the walls and stone pillars everywhere. The stage at the end was empty, the lights glinting off the silver drum kit already in place. Booming heavy music played through the speakers, Slipknot or something similar.

I had deliberately arrived late: Mikey has assured me by that point it would be too crowded for him to see me. He was right - I had to push through throngs of people to even make my way to the bar. The bartender checked my ID carefully before sliding the glass towards me. I understood his doubt. I had to double-check my ID myself sometimes. I hadn't even been conscious for my eighteenth birthday.

I settled myself into an alcove near the back where I couldn't be easily seen, and waited for the band to start. On the outside I knew I looked slick and confident. I had prepared for this moment carefully. My hair was freshly dyed black and shone in the lights. I had smudged eyeliner carefully under each eye, and shaved immaculately.

My outfit had been put together by Alicia, who didn't even trust the judgement of a gay man in these matters. Dark grey distressed jeans tucked into my steel-heeled pointed Dr Martens with flame detail on their leather sides. A plain black shirt and a sturdy black leather jacket. Matched with chains hanging from the jeans and around my neck, I knew the outfit worked. But would it work well enough? No matter how confident I might look, I was a nervous wreck on the inside.

I chewed my nails desperately, sipping my drink as slowly as I could. In my back pocket was the sheet of paper containing my hand written lyrics. He had believed in my voice before. Would he believe in me now? After everything I had done?

Before I could work myself up any more, the music abruptly ceased. The crowd chatter quietened to an anticipatory murmur, and people looked towards the stage. I blinked, and moved forwards until I could see. There were several dark figures moving around the stage, plugging in instruments and giving a few experimental taps on the drum kit. I waited, the tension unbearable.

And then I saw him. The lights suddenly flashed bright on the stage, and standing in the centre, microphone in front of his face and guitar in his arms, was my boy.

"Alright New Jersey are you ready to make some NOISE?!" The figure in front of the mic screamed. I couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. I was stunned into silence by the sight of his face.

Frank had changed. Seven years had washed away the last traces of his illness. He had grown no taller, but had filled out in the most natural way. The skeletal look he had sported the whole time I had known him was entirely gone, and his arms and chest had grown distinctly muscular from what I could see. His hair was shorter and black, and his arms were covered in tattoos.

But the biggest change wasn't his appearance. No amount of muscle or ink could compare to the way he carried himself. The Frank I knew had been a wreck - a nervous ball of exhaustion who could barely raise his voice in conversation, let alone address a crowd. This Frank was undeniably confident, sexy, and completely aware of this fact.

He slammed on his guitar and I found myself staring, watching his fingers slide over the strings in an incredible display of technical dexterity. And his voice - his voice! He alternated between crooning at the crowd like a lover, and screaming at them until his throat was raw, as though he want to commit serious bodily harm to each and every member of the audience. The look of intense concentration on his face, the euphoria and adrenaline as he tilted his head up to the lights was behind anything I had ever seen before. It was beyond obvious that he was born to do this. And I wanted it too.

He took my breath away.

For the rest of the set I stood near the back, afraid of being recognised, watching my boy fulfill his dreams as he hurled himself wildly across the stage. The crowd wasn't enormous, but they loved the band, cheering enthusiastically after every song. When Frank announced that this was the last song, the groan of disappointment was palpable. I knew how they felt.

Suddenly he looked out across the audience and I could have sworn his eyes locked on mine. But then he looked past me, and the moment was gone.

Frank leaned into the mic. "I wrote this song six years ago" he told the audience. "About my first and only love." The crowd awwed in response.

"Wherever they are, I just want to say the same thing tonight I always say: Come home. I'm waiting."

A tall blonde woman next to me sighed and rolled her eyes. "Not again" I heard her say to her friend. I turned without thinking and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Excuse me ma'am" I asked politely. She turned, not unfriendly but not exactly welcoming.

"What did you mean by not again?" I queried.

The woman laughed scornfully. "New here are you? He dedicates the same song every damn gig to his long lost love. He's been doing it for as long as any of us can remember, it's become something of a joke locally."

I turned back to see Frank still talking, but I had missed the rest of his speech. "Take it away" he murmured to the guitarist next to him.

Hold you as waves crash down on the Jersey Shore

Can't think of a time when I needed this more

Your skin is so pale reflecting the moon's glow

Please don't talk too much baby

I don't wanna know

Breathe on your neck

Make knots with our fingers

I know that soon you'll be out of my reach

Kiss closed mouth to open eyes

Stall one last moment before goodbye

Drive different cars in different directions

Never write all the letters full of good words

Better intentions

It's for the best although we don't know it

Paper words could only cheapen the moments we shared

It's better I say nothing at all

You were so perfect but not everlasting

I'm almost convinced that we never happened

As the music drew to a close tears filled my eyes and I retreated back into the shadows so I wasn't seen as the lights came on. I hadn't decided yet whether or not to reveal myself to him. I was so afraid he would hate me after what I had done to him. I would deserve it if he hated me, I would deserve any words of fury he chose to throw at me.

I might have not moved from that corner for the rest of the evening if fate had not chosen to throw a spanner in the works. The same woman I had spoken to previously was laughing with her friends only a few feet away from me. I tried to ignore them, but the noise was becoming screechy and high pitched as they drank more. Suddenly one of then threw her head back in what i presumed was an expression of hilarity, and to my utter consternation managed to tip herself over on her heels and stumbled to land right at my feet.

I looked down in distaste at the creature in front of me. There was little I had less respect for than a woman who made a fool of herself publicly. But courtesy was required, and I reluctantly leaned down to help her to her feet.

"Thank you darling" she slurred in my ear as she draped an arm over my shoulder to steady herself, and then began dragging me forwards. "Come meet my friends" she insisted.

"No, no thank you." I tried to be firm, but she was stronger than she looked and in one motion yanked me forwards into the light. The scuffle has sufficiently caused enough diversion to draw the attention of other members of the crowd. As they turned to look with interest, hoping for a fight or something equally diverting, I suddenly caught sight of Frank across the room again.

He was kneeling by the stage fiddling with a large amplifier, a look of intense concentration on his face. I watched as his face turned towards the crowd, his expression changing to annoyance at the increased noise level, followed by curiosity as he looked out at the commotion. Then I saw the moment his eyes landed on me.

He didn't recognise me at first, and frowned lightly at me as though asking why I was looking at him when he wasn't involved in this little altercation. I couldn't take my eyes off the little pout on his pink lips and the way his eyebrows had drawn in ever so slightly. Slowly I raised my gaze from his lips to look into his eyes.

When I met his dark brown eyes, I saw the exact second he realised who I was. I watched every single emotion chase itself across his face. Shock, disbelief, relief, anger, love, confusion, grief. Pain. His mouth hung open

It was as though we were frozen in place, locked in stasis as we stared at one another. Seven years hung between us and I had no idea how or if we would ever move to speak of them. The world seemed to slow and still around us, people beginning to realise something was happening. Frank's smouldering glare held me fixed, and I couldn't have moved if I had wanted to.

The noise of the club had dimmed to a murmur but it barely registered except a faint niggle at the back of my mind. Slowly, uncontrollably, I was drawn forwards. I was like a blind man following the sound of another's voice as I took step after step towards my destiny.

Frank was moving too, both of us locked in this strange dance. We moved until we stood in the centre of the room, less than a foot apart.

Slowly, slowly Frank raised a hand. I raised mine, mirroring his every move. Then in one never-ending agonising beautiful moment, he pressed his palm against mine. The current that shot through me awoke me from whatever twilight world I had been inhabiting. Suddenly I was able to move on my own again, and I gasped. My fingers moved of their own accord, sliding through Franks to grip his hand tightly. Home.

Frank was staring at our interlocked fingers with disbelief. As he carefully raised his eyes to mine I flinched at the unbearable suffering I saw there. Frank had suffered far worse than I, who had merely been unconscious. But the words that left his mouth were not blame or accusation.

"You came back," he whispered.

"Always"

In one motion, we were somehow catapulted into each others arms. In Franks arms, I was in our bubble and the outside world didn't exist. It was like we were alone in the world. I only felt and saw him, the feel of his body, the strength of his arms, his earthy scent, the silk of his hair, the intensity of his eyes, the deep tone of his voice.  
>The love in his heart that filled us both.<p>

When Frank stepped away from me just enough to look into my eyes again, I reached up and wiped the tears from his pink cheeks. Dipping his head, he rested his forehead to mine. Besides a few gasps, it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was I was in his arms.

"Baby, you are the only hope for me," he murmured softly.

"I love you," I breathed right before I pressed my lips to his, gently sweeping over them with mine.

His arm around my back tightened, his fingers digging into my side as I coaxed a quiet moan from him. My heart raced and my blood heated as it always did in his presence. Everything and everyone disappeared and instead of a rock club, we were two boys in love dancing together is a basement bedroom where nobody would ever find them. Before his tongue could run over my bottom lip, I pulled back. Heat rose to my cheeks when I remembered we were most definitely not alone.

I raised my head from his shoulder to glance around us, before leaning towards Frank and murmuring into his ear; "Baby I hope you already came out. Because if you hadn't before...well, you just did."

The high pitched chuckle that came from Frank's lips took me back years to the first time I had ever heard him laugh that way, as he watched me fall from the top bunk in a tangle of sheets. For a movement we could have been teenagers again.

But we were two men, and men didn't usually kiss in public that way. Prepared to deal with anything, I turned to look at the crowd. I kept my hand firmly locked in Franks. No matter what happened next, I wasn't letting go of my boy again, not for a single second.

It seemed the entire club was staring at us. The drunken revellers, the rest of Frank's band, the sound guy, the merch girl, and every other person in the room. In the dead silence that followed, anything could have happened. Then out of the silence, one person suddenly started clapping. Before I could blink it was like a tidal wave of applause. It seemed that all I could see in every direction was applauding people, smiles and congratulations everywhere.

Frank looked dumbstruck, as though he literally couldn't believe what he was watching. He swayed slightly and I slipped my arm around his waist quickly. "What is this?" He said in amazement, turning to press his lips to my ear so I could hear him. I couldn't stop smiling as I replied. "This Frank, is the start of the rest of our lives."

In one swift motion I lifted him into my arms, one arm under his knees and the other around his waist. I had done this hundreds of times when we were younger, and I noticed immediately how much heavier he had grown. The crowd cheered and hooted as I held him against my chest, and Frank blushed furiously.

Then I carried him bridal style straight out of the door.

/

When I reached the door I had to let him down so I could open it. He was laughing again, and the sound made my heart lift. Unable to speak past the overflow of joy in my heart, I pressed my lips against his again. We needed to speak of what had happened though, much as I didn't want to let anything ruin this perfect day.

"How did you get here?" I asked Frank.

"I drove" he replied. Perfect.

Sitting in the front seat of Frank's shitty car, I rested my head against the cool glass and watched the night flash by. I didn't know where we were going, but I trusted Frank. We didn't speak during the journey, instead we just drove in companionable silence, the crackle of the radio preventing lack of conversation from becoming overpowering.

Finally as the city lights began to recede behind us, Frank pulled into a lay-by. With a sigh, he switched off the engine and turned to gaze at me. His eyes travelled up and down my body as though drinking in everything about me. "Gerard," he murmured. Then his tone sharpened. "You mister, have a lot of explaining to do."

I had been waiting for this point. Although the relief of finding the love of ones life again had temporarily overcome all his doubts, I knew Frank would have a lot of question left. I would have in his situation. I tried to counteract them as best as I could, by launching into an explanation.

I turned to face Frank, and before he could begin asking the wrong questions, I gave him the answers.

"Growing up I had a best friend named H. When we were fourteen he told me he was in love with me. When I told him I didn't feel the same, he went home and killed himself." I left out a lot of detail, but Frank just needed to know why I had left. His face was puzzled, as though he wasn't sure exactly why I was telling him this. But he let me continue unimpeded.

"After being with you, I had a dream about him. I realised I never understood why he killed himself, and I was terrified you were going to do the same." Frank began to nod slowly, looking torn.

"I left in chaos. I went to New York, and eventually I found his mother. She let me see his room, and in it I found his diary. It wasn't my fault Frank!" The relief I still felt when I said that was palpable. I was still feeling the effect of being absolved.

"I was on my way home to see you. To tell you I loved you" On the last word my voice broke, but I endeavoured to finish the story. "When the car hit me...you were the last thought I remember having."

Frank was staring at me as though he had never seen me before. His silence was in fact so unnerving I was about to ask him to say anything at all to break it, when he spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper. "You were...you were coming back that night?"

I nodded, unable to speak for a brief moment. "Of course I was. I could never have left you deliberately."

I was amazed to see tears in Frank's eyes, welling up past the beautiful striated hazel irises and gently tipping down his cheeks. Reaching out, I used my thumbs to wipe the tears away, before pressing my lips against his. "Yours. Always yours," I promised against his kiss.

/

/

**Thank you for reading. If you have the time, I'd be immensely grateful if you would leave me a review with your thoughts and comments, I really appreciate them.**

**I haven't started writing the epilogue yet, but it won't be too long in coming, as I expect it to be reasonably short.**

**_"Hello angel, tell me where we go from here..."_**

**See you all soon.**

**~Hana Belladonna**


	38. The Kids From Yesterday

**Epilogue**

_May 19th 2012 _

I could hear the roar of the crowd already. They were chanting our names, over and over. It was a testament to how loud they we they we could even hear them from here.

Gerard sat across the tiny room from me, gazing into the dressing room mirror as he carefully smeared red powder under his jawline, matching his flaming red hair. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the worry at what was going to happen tonight. I understood it very well. I had stood onstage next to Gerard Way a thousand times, but I had never felt like this before.

It felt like my heart was thrumming faster in fear. Mikey and Ray seemed entirely unconcerned, to their credit. Ray was warming up on the guitar, chasing scales up and down the strings of his Les Paul. The man would never set foot onstage without being properly prepared. Mikey was chatting on the phone. I suspected he was talking to Sarah.

I didn't approve of Mikey's new relationship. After so many years of him with Alicia, I had firmly believed they were perfect for each other. But at the end of the day, it was nobody's business but his. So I gritted my teeth and said nothing. The only person who had taken the news worse was Gerard.

I moved over to stand behind my boy, rubbing my hands reassuringly over his shoulders, massaging the tight muscles. I felt him relax under my touch, and leaned forward to press my cheek against his. Looking at our twin reflections in the dressing room mirror, I couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" Gerard asked, sounding calmer now.

I gestured at the reflection. "Just...us. Just look at us."

He did as I asked and looked into the mirror. Gazing back at us were two adult men. The thirty five year old Gerard did not seem a day older than the twenty four year old who had walked up to me at my Pencey Prep show eleven years ago, taken me home and asked me to form a band with him. I could see the reflection of the young man, and as I looked even further into his eyes - green under the lights - I could even see the shadow of the seventeen year old boy who had saved my life.

Some men grow only more handsome as they grow older. With Gerard this was the case; his bright scarlet locks keeping the colour in his cheeks and his defined jawline and cheekbones growing more prominent every year. His cat-like features had only developed further as the years went by. I had never seen him more beautiful.

Then I looked at myself and sighed. My hair was black and floppy, falling into my eyes in a way that irritated me. I hadn't changed much since 2001 really, just inked up a lot more. I tilted my head sideways to admire the scorpion tattoo detailed on my neck that I had completed on our first major tour. I would never be as good looking as Gerard, but I had learned to make do with what I had.

Gerard smiled at me, and stroked his hand through my hair. "It'll be okay" he promised. "There's no other way we can do this"

My Chemical Romance was over. The audience didn't know it, our manager didn't know it, and our label definitely didn't know it. But after tonight we would never play another show again. We would leave a year or so for the dust to settle on our performance, and then we would announce our decision to break up the band.

Then finally we could realign our families, and begin to prepare for what we needed to do before the bombs start dropping.

As the countdown began, we all gathered by the doors that led to the stage. Knowing this was the last time we would ever play live had us shaken. Eleven years is no small amount of time to dedicate to a career - and ours had been extraordinary. But the future was bulletproof, and so we steeled ourselves and wrapped our arms around each other, to form one last pre-show huddle. With Mikey pressing in from the right and Ray on the left, I almost wished Bob was here with us again. Just for old times sake.

From the stage, the opening words of Look Alive, Sunshine, began to crackle through the loudspeakers. It was time do do what we had come here for.

Breaking the huddle, I didn't know what to say to any of them even as I looked them in the eye one by one. But Gerard pressed his palm against mine and I felt the familar warmth of his hand. Even after all these years, all I needed was his touch and I knew I could survive anything.

Picking up my guitar, I jogged out onstage behind Gerard. It was time to play.

/

The crowd was screaming as Gerard announced it was time for one final song. We had discussed this over and over as a band, all of us wanting a different song. Even though we knew there would be an encore, we knew a lot of the audience would leave before then. So this was the penultimate opportunity for us to say goodbye, and spread the contamination before it was too late.

Ray and Mikey had wanted us to play Skylines and Turnstiles. It was the song we had begun with, and they claimed it was the song we should end with. I argued that since I hadn't played any part in the writing of that song it didn't hold as much meaning for me. Not even Gerard realised that I had always known where he found inspiration for that song.

A few words scratched into the underside of a bunk with an art knife, oh, around seventeen years ago. _Can we still reclaim our innocence?_

I had voted for The Black Parade. It was our most famous song, after all. And a fitting way to describe our plans for the next several years. _We'll carry on. _I hoped the lyrics would be something the fans would hold on to after we were gone, during the horrible period between the end of the band and the beginning of the future. God knows we would all need something to help us through it.

But Gerard had the final say. "It was to be this song" he told us earnestly. "Nothing else fits as well. Please, I need this."

After that, how could we tell him no?

Gerard was crying as the drums and bass began their pounding beat. Nobody else would have noticed it under the glaring lights, but I knew his face better than my own and he could hide nothing from me. The light on his cheeks was reflecting off tears, not glitter. The audience howled as the synths and guitars kicked in, and I bent my head to focus on my soaring melody.

Finally, finally Gerard lifted the mic from its stand and stepped up to the front of the stage. Raising his head, he gazed out over the endless sea of faces. Our fans, our friends, our family. And then my beautiful boy sang the song of our lives.

_Well now this could be the last of all the rides we take_

_So hold on tight and don't look back _

_We don't care about the message or the rules they make _

_I'll find you when the sun goes black _

Gerard Way had friends in very high places. Friends who, three years ago, had warned him that in the years to come a corporation would rise from the ashes of the consumer industry and take over everything. Bombs would fall, and almost everything would be wiped out. Humans would become robotised, and the cities would fall under the rule of a new people. They were called Better Living Industries.

We didn't want to believe them, but our sources produced proof that couldn't be denied - photo and video evidence of this corporation quietly preparing for a war. The source told us that we represented a threat to them - anyone with significant influence over a large group of people was a threat, and would be wiped out. But Gerard with his indomitable spirit, refused to go quietly.

Gerard insisted we wrote one more album, to warn people what was coming. We made it a story, a concept album, so that people wouldn't take it too seriously. Because we knew that when they saw their families taken and their homes burned, when the time came, they would remember everything. When the dangerous days arrived, they would understand it was time to leave, and time to find the fabulous killjoys.

I clung to him the night we heard the news. I knew that at some point in the future there was a chance I would never see him again. It terrified me. He stroked my hair softly, and whispered to me; "I will always find you. No matter what happens, no matter what mask you are wearing, no matter where you are. I'll find you when the sun goes black."

_'Cause you only live forever in the lights you make_

_When we were young we used to say_

_That you only hear the music when your heart begins to break_

_We are the kids from yesterday_

Gerard crooned to the crowd like a lover, he roared like a deranged beast, he threw himself completely into their hands. The raw choking emotion that permeated his voice reminded me of the very first time I had heard him sing, the night I arrived at his house as a terrified seventeen year old. His voice had soothed me then and it soothed me now.

_All the cameras watch the accidents and stars you hate_

_They only care if you can bleed_

_And does the television make you feel the pills you ate? _

_Or every person that you need to be? _

_Cause you only live forever in the lights you make _

_When we were young we used to say_

_That you only hear the music when your heart begins to break_

_We are the kids from yesterday _

I felt like I had never played so hard in my life. The refrain was burning through me. _We are the kids from yesterday. _

_Today...today..._

_We are the kids from yesterday _

As the song gradually came to a close, I realised I was crying too. I was desperate to kiss Gerard, but we had promised we wouldn't do it onstage again. It was too risky to let _them _see how close we were. It would destroy all the careful work our cover families had done for us, and I could never put them - or Gerard - at risk.

As the song finished and the lights went out, I was shaking so hard I could barely play. This was it, this was the final moment. Now we would let our body doubles take over our lives, and we would go into hiding and begin to train for the role we were preparing to take.

The crowd was screaming, I could see so many beautiful sweat-soaked young faces looking back at me. Many of them were crying too. I couldn't believe that it was actually over.

Following Mikey's lead, I exited the stage as though in a trance, barely aware of what I was doing. I watched as Gerard bid the crowd goodbye, blowing them kisses like he always did. I could tell he didn't want to leave the stage either, but he did what he had to do. We all did.

Finally we we all there in the dressing room again. Hot, drenched in sweat and water, barely able to stand. But we had made it. Suddenly I felt something crash into me. Only a flash of red from the corner of my eye let me know it was Gerard before I was pinned against the dressing room wall being kissed passionately.

The urgency as his lips pressed against mine was something I had become familiar with in the last few years. Everytime he kissed me it was like me was afraid it would be the last time. I kissed him back with equal ardour, and then pulled back to rest my forehead against his.

"Okay Party Poison, it's time to start our lives phase two" I murmured.

I felt rather than saw Mikey and Ray join us. Gerard pulled back from me reluctantly so he could address us all; our undisputed leader just as he had always been.

"Fun Ghoul. Kobra Kid. Jet Star." He said formally, looking each of us in the eye. Then a smile cracked his solemn lips. "Frank. Michael. Raymond. Though you're dead and gone believe me, your memory will carry on."

I wasn't to be outdone. "Killjoys, it's time to make some noise."

As a unit, we turned towards the door. Outside there was a car waiting that would take us all the way to California. We had some friends to meet, and plans to lay, and some armies to build. It was time to start preparing for war.

I wasn't afraid. I had Gerard. And no matter what, I would find him when the sun went black.

/

_Thank you for reading our story. Frank made me promise when we first arrived out here in the desert that I would write every single word down from start to finish. So that when our children grow up, even if we are gone by then they will always know our story - the real version. We took it in turns to write chapters, whoever we thought had the best insight. Writing this, I learned so much about my husband I never realised before. It has brought us closer than ever. _

_This is our message in a bottle to you. The day is coming when you will need to be ready. Now you know where we are and how to find us. We WILL be waiting. And to our children; Bandit, Cherry, Lily and Miles. We will find you again someday. To our closest friends; Lindsey and Jamia. You have a beautiful love. Thank you for everything you have done for us over the years. _

_To the MCRmy; keep running. _

_XoGerard. _


	39. Acknowledgements

Acknowledgements for I'll Find You When The Sun Goes Black

Katie, for that year you spent with me reading every single Frerard fic on this site. We used to print out chapters and bring them to our GCSE lessons. I know for sure this story wouldnt have existed without you. And also for being the person standing next to me as we saw My Chemical Romance live for the first and second time. Most of all, for that moment when you kissed me just as Gerard sang The Only Hope For Me Is You.  
>Justin, for sitting next to me in his guest bedroom as I typed the very first chapter of this story three years ago. And for being the OTHER person standing next to me seeing My Chem live.<br>H, for letting me steal his name and part of our personal story.  
>Gee, for giving me enough rage and hate to create the misery chapters.<br>Dez and Cal, for making it better.  
>Emily, for being my Frankie for at least a tiny portion of time (before turning into a stoner faggot whore, but we don't talk about that)<br>Kaitlan, for letting me cry on her for nearly an hour after I accidentally deleted ten thousand unpublished words of this story.  
>Cas, for being the best beta any girl could ask for.<br>Zia, for proving to me that real love is still possible after all, and giving me enough hope to write a happy ending.

Finally, the MCRmy. For being there for me when nobody else was.

~Hana Belladonna


End file.
